Deuteronomy
by Elizawriter
Summary: Uhura and Spock arrive in the Tanzanian city of Moshi, six months after the film. The crew of the Enterprise must ready themselves to face an enemy of disturbing proportions as shards from another reality continue to threaten their own. FULL-LENGTH Fic.
1. Moshi

_Disclaimer: I do not own anything pertaining to Star Trek - that joy goes to the dearly departed Gene Roddenberry and Paramount Pictures._

_Author's Notes: My first foray into the world of fanfiction. I have tried really hard to stay true to the Trek world but if there are any mistakes don't hesitate to tell me._

_N.B. In the fictional Star Trek universe the United States of Africa exist as a nation of the United Earth government, within the Federation. Officer Uhura originates from the states._

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Deuteronomy

by Elizawriter

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Chapter 1 - Moshi

"It's so annoying - people are always telling me Kilimanjaro is in Kenya. How many times have I got to say? It's in Tanzania!" Nyota Uhura shook the frustration out of her face, perspiration left a sheen on her forehead and she wiped it with the back of her hand.

"Have you considered that Earth geography may not hold the allure for others that it does for you?" Spock quipped. His mood had lightened since they arrived in the United States of Africa. It seemed that the weather agreed with him. It was very hot, almost stiflingly so.

"Ha! You're killing me," she retorted dryly, rising from her seat, "I need to see if this place can serve us something other than ugali. I won't be long."

He watched her walk into the small, plain restaurant they were seated outside of, a rhythm in her step which served to put him entirely off food and set his focus on an altogether different appetite. He was still watching her form recede when a voice interrupted his thoughts.

"Shikamo," said the rake-thin waif leaning over the rail, hands outstretched. Her grey eyes were glazed and she wore little more than rags. There was a bend in her stance that she had learned from abuse.

"Marahaba," Spock replied, the word was issued without hesitation; the customary answer to a customary greeting, embedded into the language from a time when many Africans were enslaved. The very notion of slavery was an abomination which would not have been allowed on his home planet. For all humankind's cherishing of their so-called emotional intelligence, their historical passion for bloodshed was only paralleled by the Vulcans' before Surak's teachings.

"Hey! Hey! Spock?" Nyota's voice interrupted his thoughts; he turned to face her.

"Where has she gone?" his head whipped around to the spot where that frail-looking girl had been, a thin, waif-like creature. She was no longer visible to him.

"Who?" Nyota asked.

"A waif."

"Really? I didn't think the city still had beggars. Oh, I hope you didn't give her any credits."

"I know it is illegal here, k'diwa," he replied, fixing his bond-mate with his eyes. "She did not request monetary aid from me, she simply gave me a greeting and was gone."

He turned to the rail once again, ever so slightly perturbed by the girl's swift disappearance. She was a secret, he assumed, one of many that the United States of Africa had. Logic determined this should be so - collective positive regard for the ruling powers must be enforced by suppressing all clear reminders of the state's failings; such as children living on the streets without assistance.

Uhura settled into the chair beside him, her black hair braided to her skin in neat rows, relieving some of the heat. Then a cool breeze blew through the thick air. She silently laid her fingers on the hem of his sleeve, always careful when touching him, knowing the contact of skin was something he found extremely intimate.

"Did you find an alternative to ugali?" he asked.

"Unfortunately not," she muttered.

He quietly turned her hand over and held it, intertwining his fingers with her own. Her heart rate increased, as it always did whenever he touched her, or when she translated his highly intellectual speech into something she deemed to be profound. It was disconcerting how many times he had seen her attempting to distil the depth of their connection into a few words. Words were a comfort to her, clearly, since her youth but when they failed, seeming futile compared to their relationship, she would struggle to find ones more adequate.

The Tanzanian city where she had promised to meet her father before the next mission was overpopulated and rowdy. Shore leave was a boon that rarely occurred so Spock and she had decided to brave the crowds for a quick visit. Then they would be off to Nairobi to see her mother and finally, back to San Francisco and the furthest reaches of exploration in space.

He watched her sigh deeply and counted her breaths, taking in the contours of her striking face. More illogical thoughts threatened from his human side. Being with Uhura for these past six months was like mixing paints. His Vulcan heritage merged with the human life his mother had given him, creating something nearly inexplicable and wholly different from the man he was before. A suitable metaphor would be taking yellow pigment and blue and combining them to form green. The colour of chlorophyll, the photosynthetic properties were unparalleled by any other on this planet.

This too, this mind wandering, was a direct result of his new life. Meditation, through sheer habit and control had become an alleviant to some of his pain, but there were places, illogical mental scar tissue that refused to heal.

The first tremor in the earth was so gentle that Spock barely regarded it. He was more sensitive than the average human, his hearing was a miracle of genetics. He would live longer, be stronger and could out-run and out-class most humans in nearly all fields. Especially those of scientific study.

The second rumble was undeniable. In the four seconds before the sound she looked up at him, her deep brown eyes earnest, and smiled. That smile was as open and comforting as any his mother had given him during his youth. He took it for granted then, this human outpouring of affection but now, he could not imagine his life without it, without her. It was as though she encouraged the repressed within him, the illogical nature of needing her in order to feel complete. She was an indecipherable part of his identity.

"The volcano," she said, her eyes widening in terror, "but it can't be."

He rose quickly, an automatic sequence of plans already in motion: find a safe place above ground. A shuttle, a ship of any kind, capable of a few thousand feet. It was imperative for their survival. He took her by the hand and ran. No one else did, no one else realised, but he could hear it. Suddenly he could smell it in the air. Something disastrous was about to happen, it was equally foreign and familiar. Like seeing his older self from an alternative reality, watching his mother slip through into a void.

"Spock," she puffed, running as fast as she could to catch up with him, but he was still dragging her along, his inertia would be more efficient this way. "What's wrong?! What is it?"

"An anomaly - I am unsure as to its origin - we are in severe danger, Nyota."

"Where do we go?" the panic crawled into her voice and the city sprawled past them. They weaved between the numerous citizens who had stopped, staring at a point in the distance. Their eyes were fixed upwards, no one was running, not a single one of them was attempting to thwart what could have been a tidal wave of sulphur and death.

He smelled it now, taking a deep breath and suddenly there was only one thing to do. They could not out-run the catastrophe. Their only chance at survival, and it was an eleven-point-five percent in his reckoning, was to find subterranean level. The nearest underground station was ten minutes away, but they didn't have ten minutes. As the rumbling in the earth increased, it was accentuated with loud groans from the heavens that rang in his sensitive ears.

"I'm scared," Nyota stated.

"As am I," he replied, he could hear her pulse thrumming, her heart hammering within her chest from exertion and adrenaline.

"I love you," there was a tone of finality as her eyes lifted to the sky, joining the throng of mindless watchers, staring at the cloud above, christened with metal and diamond and light.

"No!" he pulled her to him, "Do not look up, Nyota. Come! We must find a vehicle."

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	2. Fear of the Dark

_Disclaimer: I do not own anything pertaining to Star Trek - that joy goes to the dearly departed Gene Roddenberry and Paramount Pictures._

_Author's Notes: Thank-you guys for being so awesome and reviewing my little story. Keep it up, also, tell me what you think should happen. In a few chapters I will explain why it's called what it's called. Also, 'k'diwa' is Vulcan for 'love'. Thankyou mhgood - you are the very definition of awesome._

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_Deuteronomy_

by Elizawriter

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Chapter 2 - Fear of the Dark

He dragged her for a few metres and eventually, in that amazing way he knew she would, she regained control of her faculties. It was then she noticed the empty vehicle, engine still running.

"This one?" she asked.

"It will suffice," he rushed. Though they knew this was stealing and that it was unethical the situation did not give them time. This was their only chance. He dove in as fast as he could, and in the second he felt her full weight on the seat beside him, he ushered the craft into motion.

There was a cry as the owner of the vehicle realised it had been stolen but they were hovering over the ground at its top speed in no time at all.

"How long is it going to take?"

"A minute," he replied without inflection.

"No, really," she continued and then reminded herself that her partner did not use idioms.

Fifty-one seconds later, they reached the station.

The rumbling deepened and underneath them the ground trembled violently. In a manoeuvre of surprising dexterity, Spock jumped out of the ajar door and swung Nyota out with him. Ngazano Station. Its rusting signs were broken down by time, its purpose rendered obsolete by far more advanced technology, a relic, as ancient as a steam engine.

Boom!

The first explosion erupted from the distance, its blast nearly knocking Spock off his feet. She had him though, her fingers digging into his arms to keep him upright. The reverberations sent a series of deafening cracks into the air. Just like thunder, without the lightning. All of a sudden mass panic ensued, sending the staring throng which had become the city into a wild and restless rabble. People screamed and trampled each other and cursed. It was madness.

"There is no time for hesitance," he said succinctly.

"Okay, okay," she allowed him to help her over the blackened fence

There was a moment of agony in which she waited for him to climb over and she breathed a deep sigh of unrestrained relief as he emerged, almost cat-like in his descent into the grimy stairwell.

"I am well," he felt the urge to quell her fears. "Come!"

"Spock, we don't even know what's down there? How can going underground be safe?"

"It is the most logical conclusion. We cannot rise above the threat so, our only option is to hide from it," his black eyes were soaked in restrained anxiety. She could not imagine what was going through his mind in that moment. He had lost so much so recently. He could not fathom the thought of losing her too.

Vulcans were not afraid of death. Spock was. He was afraid of living an existence where the second woman he loved with unconditional affection would be murdered before her time. In the Vulcan culture death, natural death, was the ending of a journey. Murder did not quite have the same allure.

Their journey down the filthy, dusty steps into a cavernous derelict hole coincided with the last of the many blasts before darkness engulfed them.

"Nyota?"

"I'm here," she reached out in the pitch black, felt the warmth of his side, the thrum of his strong heart.

Vibrations shook the walls, dragging them both to their feet. This cycle repeated itself again and again until they could not catch their bearings. However, the worst thing was that they could not see. And in the commotion he lost his hold on her. He was terrified, crawling like an undeveloped child on his hands and knees. Although he knew terror was illogical, a simple thwarting of sound reasoning which would bring him directly to her, wherever she lay, he couldn't quell it.

"Nyota!"

"Spock!"

"Stay still - there is a decreasing rate of intensity to the tremors - they will halt in 34 seconds."

There was a loaded pause as the ground rumbled to a slow stillness.

"I think - I hurt myself," she said quietly. It was discomforting, the absence of sound I this place. There were no echoes of the sprawling city above them, no familiar shouts or calls, no hums of engines, no whir of a million solar panels.

"Clarify hurt, k'diwa," he said carefully as he continued to fumble in the dark. His communicator had been dislodged from his person. There was nothing with which he could illuminate the location. But he had been a child sent out into the wilderness on his home planet. He had to be strong, the unexpected was only a result of indiscrete planning.

"Slippery," she said softly. "Ow."

"What are you referring to with this consistency? You are incoherent." Frustrated, his fists curled tight. Why couldn't he find her? How large was underground space that they had trapped themselves in?

"I'm getting kind of woozy," she mumbled. He could hear her heart-rate dropping, losing a beat with every sixty-second cycle. He could smell it - the blood. She must have been bleeding profusely from some deep laceration. He had to keep her talking and alert until he could find her.

"I am not familiar with that phrase. I take it to be a colloquialism. Can you translate it into Vulcan?" he kept his voice as serene as possible, methodically crawling on his knees, counting the distance, making sure he followed the sound of her voice, not the drowning panic which rose in his throat.

"I don't think - this is the time - for a lesson - professor…" there was a hint of humour in her voice.

Something smooth, round brushed against his fingertip, he examined it - a boot - her boot. He traced his fingers up her leg, gathering her into his arms. She had been thrown a distance that he estimated was approximately nine metres.

The scent of blood and iron was stronger than ever as he held her. She was bleeding profusely from a gash she had sustained in her collarbone. He bent over her in the insufferable dark tearing off his shirt and using it to stem the bleeding. He began putting as much pressure as he dared to without causing her unnecessary pain.

"Oh!" she moaned, writhing slightly with the pain.

"I apologize," he said gently, keeping the pressure firm. "It is for your own well-being."

"You know," she said hazily, her heart rate was still slowing, if at a less rapid rate, "I would never let any man look after me but you."

His breathing became shallow. There was a burning, a fire behind his eyes that he could ignore or suppress or fight.

"I am not a man," he whispered.

"Oh, yes - you are," the pauses between her words deepened. "I'm - going - to die - aren't I?"

The fire behind his eyes blazed with such fury that for an instant he wanted to rip them out. For the very first time he understood the futility of human tears. The irrational bitterness of them. He felt the moisture course down a single cheek before wrapping the blanket of logic around his mind.

"It is unlikely," he said softly, "not when I am here and will do everything in my power to keep you safe."

"You didn't - even - want to - come," she gasped. "I - forced - you - to."

"In the years we have known each other Nyota it should be completely apparent that I am always present and conscious at the makings of my own choices."

She laughed and there was a choke in the sound.

"It's so dark," she said softly.

"Yes, k'diwa, it is."

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_To Be Continued..._

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	3. The Dead Zone

_Disclaimer: I do not own anything pertaining to Star Trek - that joy goes to the dearly departed Gene Roddenberry and Paramount Pictures._

_Author's Notes: Much thanks goes to mhgood, Selene the Slytherin, josephineb, RandomPersonOfDoom, elektralyte, MelMaggio, Kit Thespian, frostykist, Beatlemaniac1 and DiscoUnicorn for being so encouraging, insightful and sticking with my little tale. =D_

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_Deuteronomy_

by Elizawriter

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Chapter Three - The Dead Zone

"No," Nyota mumbled, her words slurring, "it's dark - inside my - head."

"Try not to speak," Spock's tone had a desperate edge he could not repress, "you must conserve your energy."

"Don't - tell me - what to do!" she replied, defiant to the very last.

"It is imperative that you listen to me," he adjusted her position his arms. She made a pained sound. "I apologize for your discomfort k'diwa."

There was something cold pressing into Nyota's side, it did not feel pliable. He reached for it, loosening the pressure on her collarbone for a single second until he grasped the offending object. By its size and weight he determined that it must be her communicator. With one deft hand he brought the device to life.

"This is Commander Spock of the Starship Enterprise."

"Emergency Services - Nairobi headquarters. What assistance do you require? Please note if you are not currently in mortal danger, it will take at least forty hours before we can get a craft to you." The foreign female voice sounded exhausted but stalwart.

"My bond-mate and I have been stranded in the city of Moshi. She has sustained severe injuries. We require immediate medical assistance."

"Is this a joke?" the female said with an exasperated sigh.

"I assure you I am making no attempt at humour. The situation is legitimate."

Nyota groaned in his arms and he increased the pressure on her wound.

"But that's impossible," the voice replied, "Moshi's a dead zone. Everyone's gone."

"You are incorrect," Spock retorted, burying the frustration which threatened to permeate his voice. "We are currently alive and our location is the Ngazano underground station. We have no supplies of any kind, my bond-mate is bleeding profusely and her rate is decreasing."

"Okay, okay, sir," the tired voice relented. "I will get a team to you as soon as I can. Can we contact you on this line?"

"Yes. Please - be swift. At this rate of blood-loss, my bond-mate will go into shock in approximately fourteen minutes."

"We'll do our best, sir."

The connection silently broke.

"They're - coming?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Yes," he chided himself internally. He should have checked that she had her communicator even if he had misplaced his own.

Seconds passed, more of them than he willed to count, every minute brought Nyota closer to the end of her fourteen minutes. The scent of blood, drying, oozing, despite being staunched invaded his nostrils.

"How can we define this word - woozy," he continued along his former train of thought to keep her alert. "Is it a qualifier, an intensifier or simply an abstract noun?"

"It's a state of being," she whispered, "like inebriation."

Then, without warning she began to shiver, although his body heat was enough to keep her warm in the draughty cavernous space. He knew what this shivering meant; it was her body's attempt to achieve homeostasis with a vastly decreased blood supply. She was losing her battle and all he could do was wait.

"I'm tired," she moaned.

"I understand - but you must stay awake, Nyota."

"Did they - tell you - what happenned?" she mumbled.

"The emergency services are referring to the city of Moshi as a - dead zone. Given the use of syntax, the noun phrase implies that there is not a single living creature in the city and we have escaped relatively unscathed. I detected astonishment in the services respondent when I gave our location."

"How, though? What could have - caused this? Is my dad - okay?" her heart rate lifted slightly and her chest rose and fell in the darkness.

"We can attempt to make contact with him," Spock offered.

"Please."

The moments waiting for the communicator to make its invisible connection were tentative. At least the tension kept her alert, so did the anxiety she was currently experiencing and he reasoned that the positive effects of the trauma would outweigh the negative ones.

"You have reached a connection to Mr A. Uhura's - line. Due to unforeseen circumstances the …"

"Nyota!" came a familiar baritone, cutting off the automated answering system. The sound of his voice sliced through the haze in her mind.

"Baba!" she said weakly. "Habari?"

Spock quickly took the word's syntax through a complex series of translations, into standard English and then Vulcan: How are you?

"Salama, mtoto," her father consoled

_Safe, daughter._

"I'm with Spock. He's here," she said faintly.

"Our transport broke down short of city limits," he switched to standard English immediately. "I tried to get in but - the city's been barricaded. Where are you?"

"I don't know," she whispered.

"Spock." Mr Uhura's voice was stern.

"Alhamisi."

"Is she hurt?"

"She has suffered a laceration to her collarbone and the emergency services have assured us of their imminent arrival."

"Mzungu mjinga! You're supposed to be taking care of her! If anything happens to my daughter I am holding your personally responsible, Spock. Don't think I have not pulled up your records, you are a magnet for disaster!"

"Dad!" Nyota tried to scold him but her pain was too great.

In the same instance that Spock managed to translate the Swahili phrase into 'stupid white man', he also speculated that the blood-loss was already causing cerebral damage. Her circulatory system could not get enough oxygen to her organs. Her body started to shake violently as she went into shock and he could hear her heartbeat faltering and stammering, thundering and then pausing. There was no time for anything else, not her father's words, or the void which threatened to swallow his world for another time.

He extricated her from his grasp and placed his fingers purposefully on the contours of her face, one palm still holding the prerequisite pressure on her injury. Her skin was damp with cool sweat but soft under his fingers. The meld was immediate. His mind and hers were joined seamlessly, flowing like ink into water, suffusing each other's thoughts and emotions, no matter how deeply hidden. It was as though she was his katra, and he, simply a vessel.

Pain, excruciating emanated from his chest, her chest. Theirs. He felt as though his heart was in a new location, to the left of her pleural cavity, pounding with an inescapable mantra. There were sounds of gurgling and wheezing. Together, they fought in an attempt to bring their unified body back to its normal state but to no avail.

Instantaneously he had no control over their minds. She was suddenly too strong to be swayed mentally, there was resistance from the most base centre of her ability to express herself. She was fighting him and then he realised that in order for this to work he had to urge her into the lull of a comatose state, encourage her strong will that this was the only way she could survive the ordeal.

Their unified thoughts became that of sleek white surfaces and blinking controls, whirs and commands. They were in a place he recognised immediately as the Starship Enterprise. The sights cascaded by, so many hours spent on that bridge, committing themselves to one task after another, larcenists, thieving precious moments between shifts, thrifty hours of fumbling, heated exchanges: fluids - sweat, tears, saliva. All of them far greater than the sum of their parts. There was no logical explanation for the fact that she had brought him to these particular memories.

_Don't - tell me - what to do! _she said internally._ I will come around in time. The semantics of the word do not fulfil their obligations, but I love you, Spock. Let me go._

_I will not._

_It is only logical that I must die here now._

_In t__his instance I do not accept those boundaries! No! _he forced, using all of his telepathic ability to push her under the water of a coma. They wrestled mentally for seconds until eventually, he overpowered her, and her heart rate slowed to a near-faltering beat. Her breathing was smooth, even and quiet.

When he opened his eyes he realised he could see. There was a blinding fluorescent light filling the space, voices, filled with surprise.

"We are here!" he called as loud as he could.

"What's going on?" Mr. Uhura's voice said fearfully through the communicator.

"The emergency services have arrived," Spock said succinctly and switched the device off.

* * *

Uhura was trapped in a single moment. She felt the weight of his consciousness pushing her down, under the waves, and could not understand why. Her mind thrashed against his own, bewildered beyond belief and then she staggered before pushing right back as hard as she could. But he was too strong, far too strong for even her will to fight. There was only the darkness and the sound of the waves, and the thrum of his heart, beating so fast.

The ocean was vast and unfathomable as she swam through it, never meeting any creature, any companion. It was the loneliness that she found most painful, the loss of human contact, the feel of a hand on her cheek, lips on her own, warmth, heat, lust. Who was she if she were alone?

And then Nyota thought of her own name - 'star' in Swahili. If that wasn't an harbinger of impending solitude she didn't know what was. And she had always been so very strong and independent, so unmoveable. Then how had this man - this person come into her life and render her almost obsolete. The loneliness was unbearable. She wished he would meld with her again and release her from the prison he had created. The hours were without end and the viscous black flowed over and over, no flashes of colour, nothing at all.

"Tell me again - how long has she been under?"

"Nine weeks, three days, six hours and thirty-two seconds."

"But her vitals are normal. There's nothing to indicate brain damage."

"Jim - I need to speak with you alone."

"Alright, Bones. We're grounded for now, anyway. It's not like I've got a ship to captain."

"Nyota," pressure on her fingers, the first contact in what felt like an eon. "I can hear your heart-rate rise when I speak. I will continue: although services are extremely efficient at Nairobi General, the facility was swamped with casualties. A request to Starfleet ensured you be looked after in San Francisco." She could feel the tightness of her own mouth, dry and parched. "Your mother and father are well. Moshi is - there is no logical explanation for what happenned. Command has grounded Starfleet until the cause of this catastrophe is discovered."

Nyota was a deep-sea diver, emerging for the first time after being trapped beneath the swells of an unforgiving ocean. She waited impatiently for the first fully conscious breath.

"The citizens are gone. Every single one who did not seek subterranean protection as we did. Hundreds of thousands, an entire city of human beings beamed off-world, to an unknown location."

She felt the pressure crawl up her arm on a conveyor belt of sensation to her face but remained unable to speak, to reply, to do anything.

"The chaos which followed, the uncontrolled vehicles and transports, the unmanned stations were the root cause of most deaths. Nyota, I apologise for my actions in the underground at Ngazano. I thought not of you in that instant, only of my own existence without you, and that was selfish and illogical of me. Perhaps it was inevitable that as I embrace my human side, I would imbibe some of the less complimentary facets of human response."

"Spock - do you mind if I have a word?" a familiar voice echoed

"I wish to speak with you, Doctor McCoy. And you, Jim."

There were tiny vibrations as chairs scraped along the floor and bulky forms settled into them.

"There is a possibility that there has been cerebral damage that you have not been made aware of," Spock's voice was devoid of emotion.

"What are you trying to say? She got cut, she bled out, she's pumped full of blood, healthy as a horse," Jim rushed, "I don't get it. What aren't you saying?"

"Lieutenant Uhura was very close to dying. I could not think of any other way of preserving her existence."

"What did you do!" metal legs skittered along the hard, panelled flooring as Jim rose.

"I initiated a mind meld in order to slow her heart rate and concentrate both our energies into the progression of her healing."

"Spock, was there any - resistance - to this process?" Bones' voice was stilted.

"It was the greatest magnitude of opposing force I have ever experienced to the practice."

There was silence and then the room was saturated with anger.

"Let me get this right - you forced her mind while she lay dying!"

"It was the only logical course of action. If I had relinquished my-"

"Nurse Jarway," Bones forced into the nearby intercom. "I need you to contact the nearest available cerebral consultant, specialised in telepathy. There is an emergency in room E-472."

"Christ!" Jim continued, she could hear his feet clattering as he paced.

"I fail to see where the founder of an archaic religion-"

"SHUT IT, SPOCK!" Jim interjected and there was complete silence. In that still moment Nyota took a gasp and like a miracle, she could feel the air fill her lungs.

* * *

_To Be Continued..._

_You know what to do - leave a review x_


	4. Lexorin

_Disclaimer: I do not own anything pertaining to Star Trek - that joy goes to the dearly departed Gene Roddenberry and Paramount Pictures._

_Author's Notes: I tweaked the beginning of chapter one slightly to set the story more firmly in Moshi. Also, fanfiction kudos go to mhgood & Lissa(RandomPersonOfDoom), Bacca, Hainebby94, lulugc, nicnac, FireChildSlytherin5, T'Leba, Bandbabe, DXRULES103._

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_Deuteronomy_

by Elizawriter

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Chapter Four - Lexorin

**_N.B. Pronunciations: pole sana [poll-ay sann-ah], pole [poll-ay]_**

The blackness subsided and she opened her eyes to a blinding white light. Her throat was constricted and her tongue was numb but she forced the words through nonetheless.

"Mbingu weusi!" she cried, muscles screaming to life. She only realised she was screaming in Swahili when all eyes in the room fixed on her.

"Black skies?" Spock questioned, unable to make sense of her words. The three men raced towards her, mirrored expressions of relief and confusion in their eyes.

"You're awake!"

"What did you just say?"

It was too much, too much light, too much noise, after so many hours in the dark silence her mind could not take it.

"Don't - touch me!" she struggled against her own voice; it sounded so juvenile and uncontrolled as it coughed and spluttered. The men paused, arms still outstretched, hesitant.

"Uhura," Bones spoke calmly, as if trying to placate a wild animal. "You've been in a coma - you're suffering from a mild form of telepathic memory invasion."

"Could the prognosis not indicate a case of Iresine syndrome?" Spock inquired.

"Funny, that! I just a heard a voice - and here I was thinking I was the doctor," Bones spat over his shoulder.

"Make this make sense, Bones!" Jim's chin was set angrily.

"He's wrong. My diagnosis is right. Her histamine count is unchanged and there's no sign of electropathic residue." Bones ignored the other men in the room and locked eyes with the shocked woman staring in the medical bed. He reached over to the intercom, "Nurse Jarway," he muttered, "forget the consultant. We need four doses of lexorin as soon as possible - room E-"

"472. I know, Dr. McCoy," the nurse's voice broke through the frigid air.

"Thanks," he grunted with all the sentiment of a curse. Then he raised both hands in surrender.

"K'diwa," Spock was barely audible, though he still appeared composed. He took a slow step forward. Nyota flinched at the movement, as if it were an imminent attack. She felt her heartbeat race with overwhelming fear and glared at him with the ferocity of a lioness.

Then, as if on the cue of a maestro's stick, her memory flicked back to the moment when he veiled her consciousness against her will. They had mind-melded before, and it had been intense, sensual, empowering. They were bond-mates and it was the closest feeling she had ever had with anyone, however the last time, the very last time he overstepped the boundary of her mind. He had literally dragged her screaming from the clutches of death, and she had wanted to go. She remembered the struggle, as if it were drowning and his arms were holding her underwater. The impact of the violation was so great that her hands rolled into strong fists and lifted to her temples.

"No!" she cried. "No, no, no, no. Get him away from me! Please - guys just get him out!"

"Nyota!" Spock's voice took on a tone as close to pleading as it had ever come. She stared at him again without any recognition in her eyes. In that instance he was a complete an utter stranger.

"How could you?" she spat through her teeth, venom consuming the spaces where she held her inexplicable sense of violation. "Why would you force my mind that way? Just go."

"You heard her," Bones accentuated curtly.

Spock quietly and dignifiedly walked out and Jim followed, his posture laced with purpose.

"You don't get off that easy," the tone of Jim Kirk's voice had a menacing quality in it; he was preparing himself for a confrontation.

Their voices were hushed outside the door but she could still hear them in a discussion growing more heated with the slow passage of time. It could erupt, she felt the frustration from both.

In the relative quiet that followed, Bones began a painstaking estimation of Nyota's health using his tricorder. The part of her collarbone where she had been wounded was simply a faint line of dark scar tissue. She touched it with wary fingers.

"Didn't do that myself," Bones muttered, "folks at Nairobi General were swamped. No time to use a dermal regenerator. Not the way we would do it here. Say the word and I'll get you pretty as a daisy in no time."

"Don't bother," she replied, "I need my scar."

"No way I'm declaring you fit for duty - you're in a pretty rough state."

"But the _Enterprise_."

"Don't worry, dollface. That hunk of metal ain't going anywhere and neither are we. Keep quiet for a second, I'm still assessing you neural pathways."

She absentmindedly tapped her fingers against the metal bar of her medical bed, aware of the real sound of the ocean, floating in from the bay as one instrument after another whirred around her head, pressed against her skin, and hovered dangerously close to her eyes. There was a hollowness in her chest, a betrayal that she could not temper. Simultaneously, she needed Spock near and now equated him with the death of her own identity. The sensation was overwhelming and very hard to describe, it was as though her mind had been eaten by worms; then they had gorged and fed, leaving only a husk behind. The battle she fought with Spock had almost cost her her sanity.

"Okay, ice queen, relax. Good news is - you're healing fast. In fact you're starting to look like a walk-in-the-park. So - tell me what you remember."

She swallowed and fixed Bones' blue eyes with a stare full of cool self-reliance. See, Spock, she thought, you're not the only one who can hide their feelings.

"I remember," she admitted, "feeling invaded - as if my mind was stolen from me, from the inside."

Bones nodded, "You had all the symptoms of T.M.I - telepathic memory invasion."

"Telepathic? Spock did this to me?" she did not want to believe her own rhetorical question.

"Doll, I can't tell you what happened - I wasn't there - but I have been here and so has he every day and from what I hear he's been on the phone to your mother and father too. Look, I don't like him a great deal but hurting you - would not be his intention."

"So I'm to be grateful for feeling like this?" she forced.

"I don't have the answer - I'm only a doctor. As soon as you start your meds you'll begin to feel better. Now I've got some news for you - take it easy or I swear I will hypo you with sedative before you can stand."

"I'll stay seated," she feigned a smile.

"You're - pregnant - twelve weeks."

She was stunned.

"But I've had all my shots," she blurted.

"Shots can deal with Vulcan and human sperm, but, a cross between the two - I'm guessing they wore off sooner than we thought."

"But we don't even have sex _that_ often," she heaved, her chest taking in air faster than her mouth could relieve her of it, "I mean, it just - it takes a lot out of me, you know, and he's always been so... undemanding."

"It only takes once, doll," Bones gave her an empathetic look. "- I know."

"But I can't be," she whispered. "Have you told him?" she reached a strong brown hand to his arm.

"Course not. That's your prerogative. But if you want to get rid of it, you've got to tell him first."

There was a gentle knock on the door before Nurse Jarway walked through, her uniform pristine and her red hair pinned beneath a tight cap. In a tray she carried a hypo-spray and four clinical vials.

Bones took the tray from her.

"Sir, I am well-trained in the procedure."

"And I didn't ask you for your CV," Bones said as he began to prepare the injection. The nurse immediately took her leave.

"I think she likes you," Nyota watched as the hypospray's metallic cylinder as the vial locked into place.

"Yeah, right, after the beating my ex-wife gave me! I'd be a sucker if I ever went down that highway again."

Nyota pulled her regulation gown away from her throat and the doctor positioned the spray to her nape before administering her first dose.

Almost immediately the effects of the substance in her bloodstream affected her mobility. Bones caught her small frame as it teetered off the edge of the bed.

"You're okay, I've got ya!" he consoled. She swallowed and reached a hand out to grip the bar of her medical bed. "Stay with me." He laid her back down and pulled his tricorder from the side-table, where her vital signs were showing distress.

"Do not administer that drug, Dr. McCoy!" Spock emerged in the room, his black eyes grave.

"Doctor, I'm sorry I couldn't stop him," Nurse Jarway sped in also. "He's hacked into the main database. Two of the guards are unconscious in the nurse's station!"

"Spock?" Nyota lifted her head slowly, wondering when the room would stop spinning.

"What the hell are you doing in here?" Jim Kirk's voice added to the commotion in the formerly quiet room. "Do you know what kind of mess you've left me to sort out for you?"

"I did not ask for your assistance, Captain, because I do not need it. Lieutenant Uhura is no concern of yours." Spock took another step forward and reached for the silver tray of vials. Nyota watched his subtle reaction when he picked up the hypospray; its contents were spent.

"Boys, the patient needs her rest - take this shindig outside!" Bones said gravely.

"She's pregnant with my child - an undeveloped foetus with Vulcan heredity, Dr. McCoy. Are you aware of the effects of lexorin in this circumstance?" Spock's eyes were vacant.

"You didn't question my medical ability when I was saving her life!"

"Gentlemen," Nurse Jarway urged, "you have to leave - I called security."

"And you say _I_ break rules?" Jim spat the words across the room. "How was what you just did logical? How does it follow your little code, Spock? First you mind-rape your wife, then you hack into a medical facility's data system and access restricted files?"

"My actions are and remain my responsibility."

Nyota held her temples tight, shutting her eyes as she plunged into a vague nightmare.

"Get that noise out of here!" Bones warned.

"I cannot leave this location," Spock muttered, "for if my prediction is correct, Lieutenant Uhura is about to experience what is commonly termed as a spontaneous abortion."

"A what?!" the nurse covered her mouth.

"Have you lost it?" Kirk shouted. "Have you actually lost it?"

"She ain't gonna miscarry on my watch!" Bones' yell was just one more note in the litany of madness.

Time seemed to accelerate as lightning coursed through Nyota's spine. Her stomach cramped so violently that she thought she would fold into two. The excruciation was unbearable and she jerked forward, attempting to push herself to the edge of the bed.

"Spock!" she screamed his name, her face a grotesque mask of agony.

"Christ!" Jim took a few steps back as the blood dripping through Nyota's gown grew quickly into a burgundy pool, thick and viscous on the stark white floor.

"Pole," Spock reached out for her, saying how sorry he was for her pain in Swahili and his voice sliced through her agonising haze.

"Nurse, we need someone from obstetrics in here - now!"

But instead of a well-trained obstetrician, members of security were invading the already crowded room, their uniforms and voices blurred together.

"Pole sana, Nyota," Spock repeated, taking gentle steps towards his bond-mate. To her he was suddenly the only person there and he was saying sorry in her native tongue, the only words which broke through a weakened mind.

Waves of torture shocked her body into spasms. Angry calls of alarm flooded the air. At last she was not alone, there were secure arms around her. His eyes were fixed to hers in a pained understanding of what was happening. He did not seem at all peturbed by the incessant flow of blood leaving her body.

"Pole, k'diwa," he merged his Vulcan name for her with the 'sorry' she would understand, and she simply let her head drop to his shoulder, her back jerking as another torrent of pain coursed through.

* * *

_To Be Continued..._

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	5. Fired Clay

_Disclaimer: I do not own anything pertaining to Star Trek - that joy goes to the dearly departed Gene Roddenberry and Paramount Pictures._

_Author's Notes: Hey guys, I can finally see the end of this thing. Sort of! We've got quite a few chapters to go yet. Kudos & fanfiction hugs to DiscoUnicorn, The Noble Platypus (ace username by the way), Princess Myra. Reviews are so helpful._

* * *

_Deuteronomy_

by Elizawriter

* * *

Chapter Five - Fired Clay

The bedsheets were warm under her slumbering body, apart from that she felt nothing at all. There was no pleasure or pain, only sobering facts, the pertinent way Spock would comprehend them. She had made this bed her home since her brief stay at the women's clinic and now she knew every single one of its folds, was well-acquainted with the dips her body made whenever she tossed or turned. The strong scent of antiseptic and cold sweat had replaced her usual jasmine aroma.

This bed was her refuge and with it there were no complications. She knew exactly where she stood, or rather, lay. Its stillness and humid warmth were the only source of comfort she could gather in the small hours.

The San Francisco apartment she and Spock would share until the end of their forced shore leave was very quiet. Emptiness seemed to echo through the corridors. Many of their belongings remained in cases, awaiting the call-to-arms, a return to the dotted stars and planets in the distance. The pair had not seen any of their friends since the inevitable happenned.

Not Jim, Sulu, Chekov, Scotty, Bones, none of her comrades. She did not feel any pressing need to see or even speak to her parents, or anyone else in particular. Which was unusual because she had always considered herself an extremely social person. That was why languages were so integral to her life; they enabled her to communicate without the barrier of unfamiliar lexis. Making those connections was the key to sharing life, that was why she loved to sing as well, but she wondered if she would ever sing again.

The harrowing events of the past few months were altering her personality in ways she hoped were not permanent. The will to study and learn was drifting somewhere beyond her fingertips, along with her sanity. Nyota simply wanted to curl up in her bed forever, or at least until the thought of daylight didn't make her nauseous. She also feared the time to stand again would never come.

Her relationship with Spock had been splintered, and this knowledge only made her grief more difficult to bear. How could they ever return to a time of complete trust, when they had shared every thought and emotion, when her body enticed and excited him? She doubted she would ever want to have sex again, want that level of attention on her form. For now it felt like every sinew and muscle was another wound.

Jim had been kind enough. He had used all his favours with Command to get Spock out of disciplinary procedures and had protected his rank. Then he had given them space; when they were ready to come out of hibernation, they would. She thanked him for that.

In her head she held the shards of a bond more profound and complete than any other, one she had been certain would last her entire existence. Now, thanks to T.M.I, the after-effects of Lexorin and the miscarriage of her unborn child, the notion of melding was almost abhorrent. But it wasn't his fault. Her conscious mind understood this but her heart refused to accept it. Spock was on her side; shutting him out when she needed him most was creating a gulf neither of them could cross.

She heard his footsteps as he walked cautiously into the room. He had been meditating while she slept; at least he could find a way to escape the tragedy. Disturbing flashes of her six-centimetre long child flooded her mind, its fists curled up, expelled from her body too early to survive. Remembering made her feel empty. She clutched at her vacant womb, wondering how she could feel so keenly the loss of something she had not desired.

"I have brought you some tea, k'diwa. It is imperative that you take sustenance."

She did not move from her curled position on the bed, although she could feel the weight of his stare, the slight change in pressure as he set the tray down and knelt beside the bed.

"I didn't want it, Spock. I didn't want it and it died."

He paused before he replied, organising his thoughts.

"The blame for the spontaneous abortion of our child does not lie with you. It was the culmination of numerous factors, including my inability to warn Doctor McCoy in time and - my lack of foresight by inducing telepathic memory invasion disorder. I acted in panic and haste. It was this which necessitated the use of Lexorin."

"This is not your fault," she mumbled into the soft pillow.

"I assure you more culpability than you perhaps wish to acknowledge lies with me," she heard the mug clatter, the spoon swirl around it. "Your tea, Nyota."

There were rare times when the artificial calmness of his voice unnerved her but in a situation like this, which seemed unbearably unfair, it was exasperating. She groaned in response, suddenly wishing he would leave her alone. Her emotions were shot through, lurching from one extreme to another in a heartbeat. Only a short while ago she had been desperate to find some strength, now all she wanted was to sleep again.

"I'm not hungry," she moaned.

"You have only eaten a paltry amount since our return."

"I said I don't want it!" she forced.

The silence which followed was deafening.

"Nyota, you are my ashalik," she felt his hand on the small of her back. "I apologize for being unable to display your depth of emotion at what we have lost. But the realm of dreaming is something my mother passed to me. I, too, speculated for the six-point-five minutes in which I was aware of your pregnancy if our unborn child would be more like you or I. The event exacerbates the need for my own mother. In this circumstance, she would have been apt in guiding me to the correct way of easing your distress."

She took a deep breath and sat up to look at him, rustling the bedclothes around her small frame. Her almond-shaped eyes bore into his. He was suffering too. In his own way. He felt unable to relieve her turmoil; he was blaming himself for everything that had happenned. She didn't want him to harbour any more guilt.

"Listen," she whispered, reaching over and taking the tea from him with trembling hands. "Do not put this on your shoulders. I could've died in that station. I was in a lot of pain and I was letting go. You reached inside my mind and you pulled me back!"

She took a deep gulp of the tea, aware of the black in Spock's eyes. Her worries were suddenly diverted externally, towards him. How long had it been since he slept?

"My action still remains reprehensible," there were small signs of dishevelment in his appearance, a clear sign of his preoccupation. "In the hospital Kirk categorised it as 'mind-rape', the violation which this phrase implies is a breach of our bond, a desecration."

"It wasn't," she offered. "Sometimes we need to be saved from our selves. I want to say thank-you for saving me."

"Your gratitude is not required," he watched as she took another sip.

"But it's yours," she said softly, the warmth of the mug heating her hands. "Tell me we're going to be alright," she pleaded, "that we'll get through this."

"I cannot promise the future will not bring events as distressing as those we have recently experienced but I love you very much. I can promise that despite the loss of our child, our bond is growing more resilient due to your admirable resolve."

She kissed her fingertips and pressed them to his face. He held her hand there, with a feather-light touch and their eyes locked with mutual ease. She was slowly returning, soon she would be home.

"What time is it?"

"1400 hours." It was afternoon although she had lost nearly all recollection of passing time. He gingerly took her fingers and placed them back around the half-empty mug. "I have to administer your injection," he said gently. "Due to your low immunity your risk of infection is high."

Nyota watched Spock as his lean frame rose and took purposeful steps out of the room. She could barely hear any sounds as he prepared another round of antibiotic drugs. She had miscarried a little boy with Vulcan ears and ten fingers and toes. He was heartbreakingly miniature but he had been whole. The moment of his death was one she could pinpoint with searing clarity.

She evaluated her emaciated appearance in the wall-mirror, wearing only a dishevelled t-shirt and shorts. Spock soon joined her in this image, he was holding a hypospray.

"I don't need that," she felt cracks begin to form in her tenacity.

"I assure you, k'diwa that you do."

"Just - just -" she felt the tears drip down her face; she had thought there were none left, "just hold me."

He simply did as she asked, placing both arms around her. She laid her head on his chest and inhaled deeply. They remained that way for a while, without speaking.

"In Vulcan culture," he said into her messy hair. It was sticking up wildly at all angles. "The child and the parent are inseparable. The child becomes part of the parent's identity. The death of a child is exceptionally demoralizing."

She leaned closer to his chest, reacquainting herself with the warmth of his skin.

"I am so blessed," she said softly, "to have you," she stared up into his dark eyes.

"We are fortunate to have survived."

"That's not what I mean," she replied, "Our baby was a part of us, you and me. That's what you mean, isn't it? We lost a part of us with him."

"The katra of our son subsisted, if for a short while. We have not misplaced him."

She let him go, sensing that an element of progress had been forged. Their relationship was changing like moulded clay, perhaps the heat of this trauma would strengthen it. She stayed perfectly still while he administered her shot.

"I hardly felt it! Perhaps you should be a permanent member of the medical team."

"My capacities as nurse are wholly unique to you, Nyota."

She smiled for the first time in days.

"I estimate that your tea is approaching a lukewarm temperature," he took the mug from her.

"I don't want anymore tea. I need a shower," she said softly, "I need to comb my hair and I think - I need to get to work again. I feel out of practice."

"It is inadvisable to return to your duties as communications officer so soon. You have experienced a severe amount of trauma."

She breathed, hazarding one more look at the mirror. "I look like I've been hit by a high-speed shuttle. Help me out of this bed, anyway," she continued, "I want to get out of the house. Let's just go somewhere, anywhere."

"A shower I can provide, your hair is aesthetically individual in this state and I recall your former request to walk with me across a certain Bay which is in close proximity to our location."

"I told you about that ages ago." She had imagined walking hand-in-hand with him along San Francisco Bay: just them and the sand, the Golden Gate Bridge in the distance.

"As you say - there is no time like the present."

* * *

_To Be Continued..._

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	6. Summits

_Disclaimer: I do not own anything pertaining to Star Trek - that joy goes to the dearly departed Gene Roddenberry and Paramount Pictures._

_Beta Veneration: Miranda River, you're ace. Thank-you for your ever constructive praise and critique._

_Author's Notes: This story has taken over my life this week but I'm pleased you guys are feeling the depth of emotion. Kudos & fanfiction hugs to mhgood, champagne, wilowtree14, HoVis, T'Leba, RandomPersonOfDoom (Lissa), ahealthyaddiction, DawnCandace, Bacca, nicnac, DiscoUnicorn & FireChildSlytherin5. The reviews are and continue to be so helpful._

* * *

_Deuteronomy_

by Elizawriter

* * *

Chapter Six - Summits

There was a softness to the sky in the late afternoon. The tenure of daytime was slowly ending and the sun had begun its inevitable decent. Streaks of purple and orange swathed the horizon in watercolours while the hollow clouds thinned. Nyota wondered if she had ever seen these things before. She remembered running as a girl, the wind whipping her hair back so fast that no one could catch her.

The ocean had been scarred and the water levels affected by Nero's attack. She watched two birds encircling each other in the distance, almost dancing in the sky, their white plumages fluttering against the breeze. The sand was comfortable, her knees were tucked under her chin and still she had not said a word.

Refreshingly, her companion did not feel the need to fill silences with unnecessary banter. In fact, there were hardly any awkward silences with Spock.

So many people were dead and gone, Nyota focused on that, on Gaila, her room-mate from the Academy and so many others from her graduating class that would never again see the light of day. The weight of their memories hung heavy on her mind. How could even that compare with the loss of the entire planet of Vulcan, one that had been a core of the Federation? How could any of it compare with the loss of an unplanned and unexpected pregnancy? Nevertheless, she felt as though all these things were miniscule compared to what she was still grieving over. All pain is relative, she thought, like everything else concerning emotions. And she had a husband who could feel with much more depth than any human being but was too constrained to express those feelings.

"What happened in Moshi?" she asked carefully. "How come Dad stayed safe?"

"I do not know the full answer to your question."

He didn't pull his jacket closer around himself, although she knew he was cold. She would not let them venture home yet because she liked the bay, the rough breeze blowing right through her free hair, wind tousling it, setting her skin on edge with the sheer sensation of being alive. Instead, she leaned closer to him and pulled his jacket tighter around his throat.

"Then tell me what you know," she laid her head on his chest and faced the grey-blue waters, captivated by the washing waves, the endless cycle, its rhythm was like a language, a poetry that shores sang to each other.

"Soon after our escape from Moshi it became evident to the Federation that Earth was the subject of a series of anomalies. Your father was detained to the south of the city, hence he would never have been able to meet us as agreed."

"I don't remember any of it," she admitted, "just flashes in the sky."

"The pace of the catastrophe was immediate and you sustained a debilitating injury," he draped an arm over her shoulder, pulling her slightly closer. "Since Earth has contentious definitions of continental borders, key summits remain subject to interpretation. However, it is clear that the targets were the closest populated regions to Kilimanjaro, Denali, Elbrus, Aconcagua, the Carstensz Pyramid, Vinson and Everest."

"But those are all-"

"Mountains, yes. The evidence for their existence has vanished with them."

"You mean they're gone? Then what happened to all the people?"

"It is unclear. Only those who were separated from ground-level by a material denser than water remain."

Nyota sat up quickly. "What are Starfleet doing about this?!"

"I am unaware of Starfleet's sequence of research into this event but I assume they are attempting to-"

"To what? Spock, can't you see? We're under attack. Something's after us. Just like Nero."

She saw him flinch ever so slightly at the mention of this name. Clearly, its connotations with the death of his mother and his whole planet were very close the surface of his thoughts.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I know you don't like talking about him."

"Continue," he faced her squarely, "as usual your insights are fascinating. In what way is this anomaly similar to the destruction of my home-planet?"

"I don't know," she sighed, "I mean - why mountains? Why not volcanoes or regions of high metallic concentration or locations with fossil fuels, something someone would want to steal? And why choose the highest mountain on every single continent?"

He measured his words carefully, "It is a coherent conclusion that the superior technology capable of causing such destruction, would also be capable of destroying the entire planet. Specific targets were chosen, possibly in the way of warning."

"I can't help thinking it's all connected. Everything that's happened. How, though? Why would you warn a planet of its destruction by simply flexing your muscles, showing what you're capable of? How can they know what you want from them unless you send them a clear message?" her fingers were outstretched in aggravation, the way they often were when she was attempting to solve a new dilemma.

"That we do not comprehend a clear message does not mean it has not been sent," he reminded her, hands firm on her shoulders. The sun had almost set, sending the sprawling buildings of San Francisco alight for miles and miles. As the sky darkened into a rich navy, so did the sea.

"Those people did not disappear, Spock. They were taken. The question is - by whom and why?" she stifled a yawn which robbed her of the point she was attempting to make.

"It is 1800 hours. I believe you are already feeling the exhaustive effects of your exertions today," his dark eyes were cool and sincere.

"Just a few more minutes," she relaxed into him again, "without the pressure of this screwed-up world. I like it here with you."

"As you wish. I agree - there are aesthetic merits to this location, k'diwa," his breath was warm on the nape of neck.

"I love it when you call me that," she could make out the bridge in the distance.

"Nyota, I would like to make a request," his tone turned serious.

"Anything."

He didn't speak, she turned to face him.

"What is it? Are you sad? Are you happy? I think I can read you sometimes and then you go so deep within yourself that I don't know. Tell me what you want," she knelt in front of him, her sandy fingers on his shoulders, the gulf had nearly disappeared between them but little, if any sexual tension lingered in the space between their lips. That would have to wait for a time, but there was a mutual longing, an acceptance.

"I wish to meld with you again," he whispered.

Her heart hammered like a jack-knife in her chest. She was afraid, she knew he could hear her increased pulse rate and that the seconds waiting for her answer were almost unbearable for him.

"It's going to hurt," she shifted her weight.

"I will be gentle," he promised, "I only wish to touch your mind with mine to remind you of my affection."

"Why does it even matter?" she mumbled. "We're here together."

"You are my bond-mate. I weakened you when I forced your mind into a comatose state. I accept that to trust me intimately again will be extremely difficult but it has been months since our minds last touched. I admit that I am experiencing a complex withdrawal to your presence."

He was craving her. She could dissect his complex speech into the purest of human sentiments: he was craving the sensation of a mind-meld with her while she was horrified by the idea of one. He might as well as have been asking to drown her, or to grip her throat in his powerful hands and squeeze until all the breath left her body.

"I - can't," she whispered.

"It was simply a request," he turned back to face the ocean but she could see the deep pools of hurt in his eyes. "When your mental healing has advanced, perhaps you could entertain the notion once more."

"Did you miss me when I was under?" she kept her breathing even.

"Yes."

"What did you miss?"

"Many things - the more abstract they were, the more I yearned for them. For instance, the saccharine taste of your kisses, tuneful singing of the very same refrain, despite your inability to remember the words, the reflection of dimmed fluorescence in your russet irises, the determined protrusion of your lower lip whenever you are engaged in complex study, the diminuendo of your laughter is like a rising fall, the sensation of your fingers in my hair when you presume I am asleep…"

She reached out to his chin and lifted it, raising her dark eyelashes so that their eyes met once more. Then, with wavering fingers, she guided his hand to her face.

"Go on," she urged, it was the closest he had ever come to verbalising his feelings.

"I realise now that I am not merely the sole proprietor of my being," he continued, "I am fixed to yours, and during the indeterminate state where you remained unconscious I belonged to no one."

She rushed into him, wrapping her arms around his waist tight, inhaling the warmth of his chest; he immediately responded by holding her too, hands warm on the base of her neck. They leant away once the embrace was spent, oblivious to the presence of anyone else on the bay. His hand hovered on her elbow, wishing to maintain the contact for as long as possible.

"Are you sure it won't hurt?" she pleaded.

"I guarantee that at the first sign of any resistance from your mind I will desist."

She sat down more comfortably, facing the sea once again and listened to the waves singing their incessant harmony. He pulled both strong arms around her and eventually she spoke.

"Then you have my permission," she closed her eyes and held her breath as his fingers covered her face.

The meld was warm and reassuring, her mind relaxed into his like a sunny day. She was instantly taken back to so many moments of joy and intimacy they had shared through this telepathic union. He began to show her, through the prism of his psyche, the seemingly endless hours he had spent by her medical bed. The way he had spoken to her, relying on the slow rise of her pulse in response to his voice, the small increases in her brain activity when he recalled events aboard the Enterprise.

He showed her the colour of his nights alone, his nightmares that a call would inform him of her demise during the night. Soon, it became apparent he would allow no one else but Dr. McCoy to be her physician. Spock had been present at the arrival of every visitor; when Jim arrived Spock had barely uttered more than a few words in days, except to inform her mother and father that she had not made any progress. The patience with which he took her father's worried accusations was matched only by the tenderness with which he listened to her mother's tearful fears. The fact that all non-emergency travel had been shutdown made things especially hard on her parents.

Nyota realised that every second she spent in her coma, floating in the blackness, he had been with her, unable to rest until she regained consciousness. His mind was the missing component of her own, and she was so much more complete connected to it. If the roles were reversed, Spock floating in some foreign sea without the strength to keep treading water, she too would have forced him to hold on, even against his own will.

The telepathic connection dissolved and he held her face close to his own. She took in the scent of his breath, that everyday familiarity and brought her lips to his. At first they only pressed their mouths together for chaste, innocent kisses, then her wish to show him how she reciprocated all of his feelings deepened. He held her firmly in his arms, tongue brushing her lower lip, making her feel as though she were the only person in the entire world. It was deliciously awkward, he was relearning her, writing his name on her again. She felt her cheeks grow flushed.

The sound of her communicator ended the kiss abruptly. She reached into her pocket and pulled it out.

"Lieutenant Uhura?"

"Yes," she did not recognise the voice over the line.

"Is your husband with you?"

"I don't think that's any of your business," she replied.

"Lieutenant, this is a matter of Federation security."

"Yes," she relented, "he's here. Do you want to speak to him?"

"No. Your joint-presence is urgently required at Starfleet Headquarters. Make your way as soon as possible, Lieutenant."

"Who am I even talking to?" she retorted but the voice was gone. She turned to her husband, "You heard all that?"

"It seems," Spock looked out to sea, "that our time has been cut short."

"What do you think they want?"

"I fail to make any assumptions. Let us go."

* * *

_To Be Continued..._

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	7. Command

_Disclaimer: I do not own anything pertaining to Star Trek - that joy goes to the dearly departed Gene Roddenberry and Paramount Pictures._

_Beta shout-out: Miranda River, you're ace. Thank-you for your ever constructive praise and critique._

_Author's Notes: Broke the 3000-word chapter mark and didn't even break a sweat :) Kudos & fanfiction hugs to miggs, TamarinaDC, mhgood, DawnCandace, Bacca, ahealthyaddiction, josephineb, FireChildSlytherin5, The Noble Platypus, SEEKER-2000. Reviews are and continue to be so helpful._

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_Deuteronomy_

by Elizawriter

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Chapter Seven - Command

The short journey to Starfleet Headquarters was fraught with worry. Nyota wished she had worn something to make herself look remotely professional. Her hair hung in a mess on her shoulders but Spock couldn't see any real reason to go back to their apartment when their eventual destination was so near. She sighed at her reflection in a nearby window - the wind had mussed her entire appearance into a haphazard mess and she wasn't wearing any make-up. She had been in a coma and had a miscarriage, and she looked it.

Spock, on the contrary, was composed in a simple black shirt, black trousers and jacket. He was holding her arm with his own and without the armour of his uniform, there was a sense of vulnerability about him too. Her legs wobbled a little as they stepped into the main foyer of the staggering structure of concrete and glass which was the Starfleet's Headquarters.

_You're supposed to be here, girl, _she reminded herself, _you're a communications officer aboard a Starship. _That did nothing to quell the rumble of nervousness in her stomach. She suddenly wished she had taken up the earlier offer to get something to eat.

The manic rush inside the main administrative building was unexpected. Spock pulled her to one side as a metal trolley hovered past them, its owner barely recognising their presence.

"Hey!" she cried. The man didn't even turn to face her. He and his trolley just hovered right on through to one of the numerous doors.

Headquarters was approaching meltdown, bustling to-and-fro with scores people doing countless different jobs. She debated over exactly which clerk to ask for assistance. Whose sweaty, drained face looked least antagonistic, whose uniform was least rumpled? Then she heard a familiar sound from across the foyer.

It was Kirk. He whistled at them, the same manic grin on his face as when they had launched headlong into the Narada's ambush. How could he be remotely jovial at a time like this?

"Captain Kirk," Spock said rigidly as they approached one another. The tension between the two men was almost tangible. Over the weeks that she had been unconscious there was one visitor who came more frequently than all others. She knew that Spock cared about what Kirk thought of him, and the accusations which had been made in the hospital room were still unresolved.

"Commander," Kirk quipped. "Princess," he turned to Nyota.

"Lieutenant will do just fine," she said and swallowed her smile. Spock's unyielding poise did not change but she could feel a slight tensing of the muscles in his arm. His eyes were as hard as glass and presented nothing but ambivalence. It was not the look he usually gave any other member of the crew. She hoped Kirk would tread very carefully.

"What are you doing here, _Lieutenant_? I thought you weren't fit for duty - nice hair by the way." She found herself strangely grateful for his blatant disrespect. He didn't dwell on things, he just moved on. Next goal - next task.

"Thanks," she ran irritated fingers through her messy curls. "We were called," she admitted, "apparently it's a matter of urgency."

"Damnit!" Bones' voice towered over the shuffle of shoes. All three turned to see him bent over an exhausted administrative assistant. Her pale face was flushed and she had left a halo of PADDs on the ground.

"Oh no, is she alright?" Nyota went over to the commotion and the others followed.

"What's going on?" one of the clerks interfered.

"Those are secure files," said another.

"Still working your old charms," Kirk quipped, "can't take no for an answer?"

"Not now," Bones said through gritted teeth and pulled the weak woman into a seated position. Her eyes fluttered and then opened.

Another young lady whose mousey fringe hid fearful eyes, was gathering the dropped equipment. She too had a glassy-eyed expression. Spock, ever the gentleman, helped her with the task of retrieving her friend's belongings.

"Thank you, sir," she kept her eyes low, her discomfort accentuated by the fact that she could clearly see by his ears that he was Vulcan. The race were a tragic rarity now, shadowed by the disturbing loss of their entire planet. They were regarded with a disconcerting reverence, as if discussing the genocide too loudly would result in dire consequences.

"Hydration little lady," Bones sneered, "first rule of staying alive." He left her with the aides which he had called up from the nearby medical facility and brushed at his jacket as if she had left some reasonable mark there.

"Are we going to stand here chewing the fat all day?" Kirk stared at them as if they were complete idiots. "Or do you want to find out what's going on?" the glint appeared in his blue eyes, one which indicated more danger than it was worth.

"The lift, Captain?" Spock asked. Nyota watched tentatively as Kirk gave her husband a nod, the underlying meaning of which she read as a stubborn apology. A little of the tension which had saturated the space between them disintegrated and, to her amazement, the two men walked ahead while she and Bones followed.

"Dollface," he started.

"Lieutenant." Spock threw over his shoulder. She stifled a smile.

"I will address your wife in whichever way my professional judgment sees fit," Bones called back. "How are you feeling?"

"Sore," she admitted.

"I mean - where's your head at?"

"It's better - it's here now. I'm ready to go to work but he worries - you know - and the fleet's grounded. Since I came home it's been antibiotic shots and misery."

"If you need to talk-"

"What do you think about all this?" she questioned, changing the course of the conversation. "Whole mountains just - disappearing?"

"Don't know, Federation's peddling seismic shifts or some-such shit? It's sure as hell more crazy than last time," he glanced at a group of dishevelled administrative assistants who rushed past them.

"I think you're right," she sighed, "it's definitely worse than they're telling."

"Isn't it always?" he smirked as the four of them walked into the lift.

"Captain," Spock asked coolly, "may I inquire as to where you're taking us?"

"Boardroom 215," he fumbled with the cardkey in his hand, "I got a message on my com and a key at the desk. They're running so low on staff in this place they can't even give us national heroes guides."

"You'd only get in her pants," Bones sniggered.

"Now, now, boys." Nyota rolled her eyes at them. It felt like the banter she was used to. She and Spock shared a loaded stare, which said 'welcome home'.

The lift door opened seconds later and revealed a wide corridor. Whether they were leaning against a wall, seated on the floor or tinkering with a PADD, their fingers moving at an unbelievably fast pace, every single person she laid eyes was someone she considered a friend, someone she had experienced the intensity of death, bloodshed and grief with. Each one of them had visited her in hospital, she had seen as much in Spock's memories.

"Sulu," she stepped towards him. Her friend's dark eyes lit up and his white smile shone as soon as he saw her.

"Uhura!" he stood up to hug her and she hugged him back. "How are you? I kept meaning to come down but I wasn't sure if you were seeing anyone and your com was turned off so…" she put a hand on his broad shoulder. He was wearing a black shirt and through the nape she could see the white of his fencing uniform.

"So they pulled you out of practice," she deduced, "you're going to make some hot lady very happy mister, the way you keep training."

"My European Swordsmanship club's down on its numbers," he said modestly, "so I said I'd help out. It sure is nice to be home though, my mom won't stop cooking and my dad won't stop bragging."

Nyota classified Hikaru Sulu as one of her best friends. He was understanding and honest, intellectually brilliant and a very funny man at that. Cool as ever under pressure but also loyal to the last. If she had never met Spock she thought perhaps she could have fallen for him instead, but as it were, life had not brought her down that road.

"You must love it, though. Home-cooking can't come from a replicator. So what do you think of my hair?" she joked, striking a pose. "I did it like this just for command."

"It's… big," he said with a tenacity to match Spock's. They stared at each other for a moment and then laughed hysterically. The joke wasn't even that funny but it felt like such a release to laugh again. Why hadn't she returned Sulu's calls before? She needed her friends around to take her mind off all the horrible things that happened.

"Hullo you," Scotty invaded their laughter, "what's so funny? I like a joke as well as the next fat person." His hands were dirty, as she expected them to be, and he looked as though he had literally just crawled out of a heavy-duty piece of machinery.

"Yeah, so where's your little green boyfriend, then?" she teased. "He'd tell us a good one."

Sulu laughed uproariously, the running joke had been a pet-peeve of Scotty's for a while but he didn't bother to defend himself, knowing it would only spur them both on.

"I swear that guy's got more friends than I do," he said warmly.

A warm hand clapped onto Uhura's shoulder and she turned to see a very friendly face.

"Hi, Chekov!" the Ensign's impish smile was infectious and she returned it. Then quickly, he removed his hand. It was well-known amongst the group that Chekov was terrified of Spock, ever since the day he had watch Kirk almost throttled to death on the bridge. He hazarded a nervous glance to where her husband's penetrating stare was fixed right at them. Chekov took a far more platonic step back.

"Zis iz a pleasant surprise," he looked at her, his eyes teal eyes were, as always, filled with excitement. There were only a few years between them but Nyota was starting to feel old by comparison.

"What are you three doing here?" Kirk allowed his confusion to surface as he joined them.

"It seems as though the full cohort of senior staff for the _Enterprise_ are included in this gathering," Spock pondered.

"Nothing gets past you, eh?" Bones grumbled.

"I vas told to come to zis floor," Chekov admitted.

"That's what my message said too," Sulu added, "nothing else. Kid who brought me up here looked like she was about to pass out."

"Bones saw to her," Kirk had a cheeky grin on his chiselled face. "We may not be on the ship but I'm still the Captain and hence the only one who's got a key," he revealed, gaining a somewhat cynical stare from the others. "So tell me where this room is." He handed the cardkey to Scotty, who looked at it from all angles before handing it out to Bones who simply looked at the object as if it were a vial of deadly microbes.

"May I?" Spock held out a hand. Scotty dropped the card into the outstretched palm, and almost instantly Spock flicked his head to the seemingly empty wall nearby and started walking. Nyota knew better than to question him.

"Are you guys coming?" she called behind herself. The four of them stood dumbfounded for a moment before they followed. Nyota liked the fact that Spock, above all others, would be useful going into an unknown situation. After all he was both science and first officer. She was proud of him but rarely said it as he would simply reply that she could not take pride in what she had not accomplished. Still, he was her husband and he was an entirely intelligent and elegant man.

Boardroom 215 was a remarkably long distance from the main turbolift and strangely deserted compared to the foyer's frenzy. They finally reached their destination, the door opened with a whoosh and allowed them entry. Inside, there was a distinctly inhuman smell, vaguely artificial. All of the walls were wide screens, displaying digital images of the seven craters where the mountains of the world used to be. There were no windows.

Nice décor, she thought to herself, and cringed as another shiver passed down her spine.

Apart from the unnerving images the room was sparse: it held a wide ebony table with numerous polished seats; the kind of room where great plans were made by great people. She had no idea what she was doing in a place most likely meant for ambassadors and dignitaries.

"Vat is all zis in aide of, Captain?" Chekov's impish face inquired as he took the nearest available chair.

"Search me, Ensign," Kirk's pale blue eyes took in the entire space as if he were looking for an escape route.

"Goddamn establishment," McCoy grew more irritable as he settled into a seat, "sending us here like canaries down a mine. If we're all gonna die I wanna be at home with a cold beer."

Nyota sat down beside her husband and under the table she reached for his hand. He squeezed it gently and then let go, proceeding to steeple his fingers on the surface in front of him.

"Excuse me," said a loud, imposing voice.

A smoothly dressed middle-aged man in grey had walked into the room. He wore a badge no one recognised and there was no visible sign of his rank. He had piercing gold eyes and an accent Nyota couldn't place.

"My name is Cassius Rayne," he pressed the keypad and the door closed. Then he walked towards them with the dignity of a prince.

"Who's this asshole?" she heard Bones sneer and coughed to cover her laugh.

"I apologise for the rushed nature of your entrance," Rayne continued, those golden eyes were intimidating because Nyota had never seen eyes like them before. She guessed they were cosmetically enhanced. Who wants gold eyes? she thought.

"And for the secrecy surrounding your arrival. You are the senior members of the Enterprise, are you not?"

"I am the _Captain_ of the Enterprise," Kirk said harshly, "you can refer directly to me, which is what you should have done before jumping protocol and dragging us down here. Now you clue us in - Mr. Rayne or my crew and I will be taking our leave."

"They told me you were different," Rayne's golden eyes schemed.

"Did they tell you about my left hook?" Kirk challenged with his eyes.

Spock raised a single eyebrow, his eyes fixed unflinchingly on the golden-eyed man. Rayne remained as cool as ice.

"I'm sure you are all aware of what we are now calling - the dead zones," he pointed towards the digital images of carnage, seven vast craters on the walls. "Seven key areas surrounding seven mountains, one per continent. Over six million citizens are now believed missing or dead."

"What does that have to do with us?"

"You tell me - what do you see here?" through his rhetoric it became clear that this man loved the sound of his own voice. "I'll tell you what I see: a botanist, a xeno-linguist fluent in eighty-three percent of the Federation's languages, a strategist, top of your class in advanced theoretical physics," as he spoke Rayne's glance poured over the crew-members who had earned these accolades, "stellar cartographers, leaders in scientific research, a pioneer of trans-warp beaming, the only Vulcan to ever turn down acceptance to the Science Academy and the youngest captain the fleet has ever assigned."

"We don't need our egos massaged, Mr. Rayne," Nyota said firmly. "Why have you called us here and what do you want us to do?"

He laughed and it was a hollow, unwelcome sound. Then he lifted a PADD from the table and plugged it into the central projection system of the boardroom. Suddenly an echoed screech came through the speakers.

"Have you ever heard this sound before?"

The entire crew recognised it immediately. It was the sound of the lightning cloud which had brought Nero kicking and screaming into their reality, destroying billions of lives and rearranging their existences.

"I have," she spoke for them, "it's the sound of a lightning storm in space, disturbing a Starship's frequencies."

Kirk's eyes met her own across the table. _That_ _lightning storm_, they said.

"It is believed that in 2258, the _Enterprise_ engaged with an alien ship, a Romulan digger from the future of an alternate reality," Mr Rayne switched off the overhead speakers for effect, "however, the Federation currently has evidence to indicate this was not the only ship which broke into our time-frame."

Everyone else had looks ranging from fractious (Bones), to apprehensive (Sulu), to downright excited (Chekov). Scotty's expression reminded Nyota of the kind a person would have if they thought they had just won an obscene amount of money. He was overjoyed at the prospect of some more chaos, for the sheer thrill of it. However, it was Spock's expression which worried her most. In his eyes she could see him digging up all the hurt and frustration that was buried so very deeply inside him. He could see it all happening again and so could she.

"Now ladies and gentlemen, guess where this particular signal came from?"

"To speculate would be unproductive and unnecessary," Spock said curtly. Nyota could feel the dislike he had for this man, Rayne, and she shared it. Millions of people had disappeared, they could be dead and he seemed elated at the prospect.

"Right you are, Commander Spock. It came from the black hole where Vulcan used to be."

"When it rains," Bones muttered, growing more agitated by the second.

Kirk stood up from his seat. "Hold on a minute!" he eyed Rayne very carefully. "Are you saying more bastards from the future are after us?"

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_To Be Continued..._

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	8. Rayne's Children

_Disclaimer: I do not own anything pertaining to Star Trek - that joy goes to the dearly departed Gene Roddenberry and Paramount Pictures._

_Beta Buddy: Like the Carlsberg advert goes, Miranda River isn't a drink, but if she was, she would probably be the best drink in the world. Thank-you so much for your ever constructive praise and critique._

_Author's Notes: The plot thickens, and thickens. I think might have full-length novel for you guys. :) Kudos & fanfiction hugs to HoVis, Cap Streeter, lulugc, Miggs, DiscoUnicorn, nicnac, Obvs-obsessed, The Noble Platypus, TamarinaDC, mhgood. Reviews are and continue to be so helpful._

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_Deuteronomy_

by Elizawriter

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Chapter Eight - Rayne's Children

_N.B. N__akupenda ['I love you' - Swahili]_

"Whether or not they have fathers is not my concern, Captain Kirk."

Cassius Rayne simply gloated. His bright golden eyes raked over the senior crew of the _Enterprise _without censure. It was almost as if they were his children and he was ecstatic over their progress in the last few minutes. There was something so unnerving about his gaze, the way it flicked over each one of them, as if savouring the sight as one would a sweet or particularly delicious taste.

"You know what I mean!" Kirk retorted, he returned a stare as forceful and intense as Rayne's. The latter was an enigma, not easily swayed or deciphered and Kirk clearly detested anything he could not unravel.

"If by 'bastards' you mean a humanoid species with advanced technology, and by 'after us' you mean the entire present reality of the universe as we currently inhabit it, then yes, Captain Kirk, your hypothesis is correct."

This situation was far more brutal than Nyota had originally thought, and she was being as pessimistic as she could. She shared a pained stare with her husband and was suddenly attacked by a childhood memory. Nine years old, staring out of the window, in the dark and watching her precious father leaving, a small pale suitcase in his brown hand. Too small for all his things.

She remembered wondering why her mother wouldn't just _do _something. Only in later years did she realise that her mother couldn't do anything. Sometimes everything had already been tried, there was only room to say goodbye and move on.

Her anxiety was heightened by the fact that this threat was far more complex than the last. They had all been there and seen for themselves the destruction Nero had rained on the _Farragut _and all the Federation ships which fell into its ambush. They had watched Vulcan implode, sucked into a whirling vortex of immense proportions. They had seen a machine attempt to drill a whole of immense proportions in Earth and annihilate her.

And all these horrifying events seemed like the cruellest and most vicious images their lives had to bring them. Those catastrophes were supposed to be the worst calamities of their time. Nothing worse, nothing more; they had reached the apex of Dante's blistering Inferno, no future event should have been more exquisite or pronounced.

Nyota let the dread surge through her. She thought she had seen devastation but she understood now that she had seen nothing compared to what was really possible. Eventually, there could be no one left, not space and not time. If people like Nero and Rayne were allowed to continue in their unhinged missions of malevolence then soon, no one would be safe, no matter which actuality they lived in.

"Time, ladies and gentlemen," Rayne continued, "That's what I'm offering. There are millions of galaxies and for each of them, innumerable alternate realities. You, sir -" he pointed an unashamed finger right in Spock's face, "created a rift in time. And now, everything from everywhere is filtering through."

"There is no plausible vindication for what you presume," Spock's voice was even but his choice of words told Nyota that this conversation had upset him. That was the real reason she cared for him; under his shell-like exterior there was a desperately kind man.

"You cannot measure rifts in time," Sulu joined in Spock's defence, "and you can't manipulate them. It's physically impossible."

"Improbable," Rayne leaned forward so both of his wide hands were pressed against the table.

"Anyvay," Chekov added, "ve do not currently hav ze technological advances to precisely measure time itself."

"Boy's right," Scotty shook his head, "can't do it."

"And what if I said that only you, this crew, under this captain were capable of creating such a paradox. Taking one instance in time, folding it, and reassembling it in a brand new occurrence, of harnessing, in other words, the power of time itself?"

"I'd say you need to sue your psychotherapist," Bones scoffed, "cause he's been robbing you blind." He began to rise. "James - are we going to sit here and listen to any more of this bullshit?"

"I would not lightly dismiss this offer Dr. McCoy. I am merely a representative of the Irises company," Rayne leaned against the table, "your dismissal may have - how can I put this in words you would tolerate - dire consequences?"

"What do you know? This bastard's threatening us," Bones growled slowly.

"What is the primary objective of the - Irises company?" Spock remained motionless, far too still for Nyota's liking. She wanted to reach out and touch him.

"Oh, they're just my - family - who happen to be the ones prototyping the red matter, the substance with the immense power to make time our slave." Rayne's voice rolled over the words. "And do you know what? If you helped us, Commander Spock, then perhaps, once we harness time, we could reverse the destruction of Vulcan, and the death of your dear mother." The closer Rayne leaned to Spock, the brighter his golden eyes shone. "Wouldn't that be something spectacular, to see her living face again?"

Every person in the room was holding their breath.

Spock's hand shot out with the speed of a reflex and gripped Rayne's neck, rendering the man a squirming writhing worm at the end of a hook. He stood up, his back straight as an iron-rod, his expression and countenance almost completely unchanged. Without any sign of exertion or strain he pushed Rayne towards the wall.

Their eyes met, evaluating and readdressing each other's intentions. Rayne grew very red in the face; he was suffocating, clutching at Spock's pale fingers, immovable and lethal. He tried to choke, tried to splutter, his eyes bulged and he contorted his features into an almost moronic visage as his body involuntarily thrashed the dance of the hanging man. The choreography was ageless, the throes of a body at its end.

"Spock!" Nyota shouted. "You're killing him!"

"I will not repeat this caution, Mr. Rayne," Spock said effortlessly, "so it would be in your best interests to listen circumspectly. Cease your intimidation of my colleagues and do not attempt to use the death of my mother in a bid to sway this crew's allegiances. I know not of who you are, Mr Rayne, or the location of your origin; however, I am ninety-eight percent certain that you are not, and have never been in any way affiliated with Starfleet Headquarters or the Federation of Planets. Therefore you are an impostor and a criminal. If you do not reveal your accomplices to me in this instance and what your true objective is, I vow that I will put sufficient pressure on your spinal cord to render you incapacitated for the rest of your life."

Rayne grinned crudely, his body still bucking through lack of oxygen and then Nyota could have sworn she saw one of his bright golden eyes turn red. The room was suddenly filled with hot, molten yellow light, scarring everyone's retinas and causing the crew to shout in pain. When they recovered from the sharp visual distraction, the door was opened and Rayne was gone.

The man was nowhere to be seen. It left the crew with an icy feeling in their bones. They checked the corridors, called security and informed a feeble-looking assistant in the foyer. No one they talked to really listened. The staff of Command were all far too busy trying to keep a world of mass hysteria under control. Due to the dead zones planets were panicking, threatening to leave the Federation. One crazed person with golden eyes was not going to get in the way of a delicate operation based around sourcing the correct lies to the right publications, producing fiction after fiction as fact.

Panic had to be avoided at all costs. So the crew were warned by a mid-level administrator to keep quiet about all this and told Starfleet would recompense them for their trouble. As simple as that. No one mentioned in any of their statements the things that Rayne had said. They were just too ludicrous, outlandish. Instead they concentrated on how he had attacked them and listed their resumes in unabashed fashion.

Afterwards, the crew wanted to stay together. It wasn't verbalised but highlighted by a holistic dismissal of so many things they had left unattended. They sat in a nearby café knowing that although they were on shore-leave, they still had lives to attend to. Scotty had been neck-deep in an engine and needed to get back to it, Sulu's mother was worried sick, Chekov had his friends at his hostel, Kirk most likely had yet another girl to intoxicate and Bones was needed at the medical facility.

The crew was shaken, despite Kirk trying to laugh the whole incident off as some kind of stupid joke. Rayne may not have been an official from Command but he still had access to all of their personal information, their communicators, ability to gain a room in the Headquarters building and a deranged notion of how he could control time. None of these things boded well and they didn't even know if Rayne was his real name.

Eventually though, the crew had no choice but to part ways. Nyota was due another shot and her antibiotics were at home, Sulu's mother had called for the tenth time, and the blonde who promised to meet Kirk anywhere he wanted was even more incentive to disperse. They did plan to meet again before the end of the week but everyone knew how flimsy such arrangements could be.

* * *

Nyota and Spock had not spoken about what happened since they arrived at their apartment. There was a solemnity about the house since she lost the baby. It clung to everything and when she walked through the barren rooms she felt it cling to her.

He administered her medication and then went to meditate without saying another word and as the minutes wore on, he did not come out of his meditative state. The less he spoke to her, the more clueless she was of his thoughts and feelings, she began to feel so very alone.

What could she do? The world was upside down and her husband had been - for a few seconds of his episodic fury - a complete stranger. The force with which he had gripped Rayne showed that he was still very much distraught over the loss of his mother, he had not resolved those issues within himself and she couldn't think of a way to force him. He was as stubborn as her in that respect.

"Spock." The room was sparse, wisps of incense filled the air, he stayed perfectly for still for hours on end. Usually she would not have disturbed him.

"I am meditating, Nyota. It is necessary to constrain my emotions, to soothe my-"

"I don't care," she said sharply, "I want to talk to you - now!"

"That is not possible," she watched the curve of his brow crease slightly and read his irritation.

When he was meditating and reached a certain plateau of peace, it was very difficult to remove himself from that state but she wasn't in the mood for waiting around. A part of her knew that she had grown spoiled from Spock's limitless attention. Now she expected it as a given. How many other husbands doted on their wives as much as hers did?

"Fine!" she spat, walking down the hallway and pulling her jacket off the hook. "I'm going out!" she called.

She didn't wait for him to follow her. What would he say? That she was being illogical, irrational, nonsensical. All Vulcan ways of saying she was an idiot because she cared about things, let those cares fill up her gaze. It was a profound thing, to be affected by misery, something he had shown he was capable of but denied himself.

The fresh San Francisco air caressed her face as she strode down the pavement. It was refreshing to just walk, to be freed from the intense misery of her home and the memory of her miscarried son. For the first time in a while she wanted her mum nearby, for a cuddle and to tell her it was all going to be okay. That Spock and she were meant for each other.

"Mama," she pressed her communicator to her ear.

"Nyota, darling it is so good to hear your voice. How are you? Are you eating?" her mother rushed in Swahili.

"I'm fine," she lied.

"Thank goodness," her mother's warm, velvety voice flowed down the line. "Everything is just - madness here. We are looking for your cousin, Germana, she was in Moshi that day. I am so relieved that you are safe. Spock is taking care of you? Let me speak to him."

"He's - he's," she faltered, taken back by her mother's obvious fondness for her husband, "he's not here right now," she mumbled. "I've got to go."

"Okay, baby," her mother said softly, "nakupenda, huh?"

"Nakupenda mama," she replied and pushed the com back into her pocket.

What would be the point of spilling all her ill-will into her mother's life? What purpose would that serve? Her mum thought she was adjusting after the miscarriage, that finally things were going to be okay. Why should she wreck that illusion? Her mum would only get worried and become upset since travel was out of the question and the Federation had grounded all intercontinental shuttles.

As she continued to walk, faces blurred into each other, the night's sky grew a richer shade of navy and clouds began to gather, ominous. She grew more and more anxious. Eventually, her fingers were on her communicator and she contacted the only person who came to mind.

"Nyota."

"Hikaru."

"You made it home alright?"

"I'm in one piece," she said sullenly.

"What's up? You don't sound too good."

"I think my marriage is falling apart," she admitted.

There was a pause.

"We can't talk about this over a com. Tell me where you are, I'll come and get you."

"I'm not some little girl that needs to be picked up," she griped.

"I didn't say you were. Meet me at the _Shipyard Bar_, then. Near the Academy. It's the…"

"I know the _Shipyard_!"

"Alright. Keep your hair on. I'll see you in five."

* * *

_To Be Continued..._

_Do not be a silent reader. If you like it, tell me; if you don't like it tell me why. _

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	9. Aisha

_Disclaimer: I do not own anything pertaining to Star Trek - that joy goes to the dearly departed Gene Roddenberry and Paramount Pictures._

_Beta Gush: Miranda River isn't a drink, but if she was, she would probably be the best drink in the world._

_Author's Notes: This chapter needs to come with a health warning - not suitable for those with a nervous and/or weepy disposition :) Kudos & fanfiction hugs to Sutzina Zion, Avril Danova, xLilypadsx, Miggs, DiscoUnicorn, FirstDraft, Bacca, HoVis. Your reviews just make me want to write and write. x_

* * *

_Deuteronomy_

by Elizawriter

* * *

Chapter Nine - Aisha

_N.B. Aisha: ['cause' or 'effect' - Vulcan]_

She shouldn't have snapped at Sulu and scolded herself for doing so. She should have been grateful to have a friend who would drop everything at a moment's notice to make sure she was alright. Nyota pressed her back against a wall, she closed her eyes and heard the heavens give a groan of thunder. The downpour was immediate.

Raindrops refracted off everything, spilling over the roofs of buildings and pooling in the streets, creating little mirrors which reflected lights like miniature star systems. She stood in the cold and wet, not wanting to go inside and sit alone, not to be physically reminded of how she felt inside.

Her gaze was drawn to a couple, an ebony-skinned boy and a honey-coloured girl. She had sumptuous, chestnut waves that ran down her back and his smile was beaming. They treasured the rain, content to be kissing each other, holding hands and laughing because there was everything to laugh about, life was good to them - they were in love. This brought her own relationship into saddening perspective.

"Hey!"

Sulu's voice brought her crashing out of her reverie and she stopped gawking. He looked as though he had rushed into his clothes.

"Hi," she said. Her voice sounded feeble.

"Uhura," he reached out and put a hand on her arm. "What's going on with you? Why are you standing outside?"

"Let's just go in," she muttered and lead the way.

She had never before understood why people felt the need to drown their sorrows in alcohol, bent over shots of whisky and off-world concoctions more potent and lethal than formaldehyde. Now she finally understood the idiom, 'take the edge off' as if she had been the one to coin the phrase.

The world was a harsh, unforgiving series of razor sharp boundaries and every day people woke up only to collide with them over and over again, cutting themselves, sometimes more deeply than others. Then they would go to sleep, wake up and start the cycle again.

Being drunk, very drunk was one way to blur those edges, to soften them like smudging charcoal or watering paints to lighten the colours. Those edges were still there, still sharp but their coarseness was less abrasive, the senses were numb while inebriated, and every joke was so much more amusing. So she sat in a dimly lit corner of the _Shipyard Bar_ with her friend and under the guise of needing to relax, proceeded to consume so much alcohol that her tongue became very loose and the edges were so soft that she barely felt them anymore.

"That Rayne guy was a psycho, eh?" Sulu downed yet another shot.

"You're telling me," she lifted her own shot glass and let the liquor scald her throat. "Ah! We've talked enough about me - how's your love-life?"

"I met a girl," he answered shortly.

"Really? You kept that quiet," she smiled, "what's her name then?"

"Karina."

"That's a pretty name," Nyota mused, "is she as pretty as her name?"

In her pocket, she felt the familiar vibrations of her communicator. It was way past midnight and she should have called home to at least let her husband know she was safe. But she didn't. Instead, she turned the communicator off. It had been said that absence made the heart grow fonder and why wouldn't that be true in this case? Besides, with her gone Spock could meditate for as long as he wanted.

A song started playing, rhythm and blues, the bass drummed through her bones and for the first time in so long she actually felt sexy. The song's beat was infectious and she smiled mischievously, throwing down her glass.

"Lets dance," she cajoled, swaying and almost tripped as she rose from her seat.

"I can't," Sulu swallowed.

"It's just like fencing only," she stood up, took his hand in her own, "I'll be the sword," she whispered teasingly, pulling him to the middle of the bar. There was no designated dance-floor but in her mood she didn't need one.

"This isn't that bad," Sulu admitted nervously as she put her arms around his neck.

"So tell me more about your girlfriend," her whole body swayed to the reckless beat.

"She - she's sweet. Astrophysicist. She fences too - wants to be in Starfleet."

"What does she look like?" Nyota breathed, leaning closer to him, so much closer than she knew she should have. She was a married woman and she loved her husband but she was in a blurry limbo between fiction and reality and the man in front of her was dancing and the music was as intoxicating as the chemicals surging through her bloodstream.

"Brown eyes," he didn't move away, speaking so close she could feel his breath on her chin. "Dark skin, black hair. She reminded me of you. That's why I noticed her."

"No one's quite like me," she leaned even closer, so their lips were almost touching. Her brown eyes seemed to gaze through him. She was there but she wasn't. She was simply escaping from all her troubles.

"Uhura, what is going on with you?" he pushed her away from him, annoyed through his inebriation. His eyes were serious. "You must know how I…" he sighed, his warm coffee eyes downcast, "…if this is just because you're angry at Spock then go home and sort it out. Don't drag me into it. I can't have you messing with my head! Do you have any idea what it's been like - seeing you with him all the time on that ship?! And I finally find someone I like and you're here - why are doing this to me?"

She took an astounded step back. "We're friends - aren't we?"

"Yeah," he scoffed, "_just_ _friends_," he said bitterly. "So what am I? Your fall-back guy?" his dark eyes seemed so malevolent within his pleasant honey face. She couldn't bear anymore animosity. Not after everything that had happened.

"Hikaru, don't be angry with me," she pleaded, "you're my only friend. Please - I need you to be my friend."

His expression softened and he reached out to her. She laid her head on his shoulder and took in the warm, soapy smell of him. This was all she wanted - a physical connection - to know that she was not alone on her journey through the razor sharp edges of life. In that moment the world seemed to take a deep breath with her. Through the haze of the alcohol and music and people, she felt calm.

Things were somehow going to be okay. She would go home and speak to her husband and tell him how much she loved him, how grateful she was for him and how sorry she was for not trying to understand him. So many times he had taken her for everything she was: heady, stubborn, and he had taken in every facet of her personality and loved her for each one in turn. She could easily give him the same consideration. That wasn't too much to ask, was it? To be a good wife, a good lover, a good partner.

She opened her eyes.

He was standing right there across the room, his black eyes fixed on them, a terrifying emotion in both his eyes. Her reactions were slow but she still managed to jerk away from Sulu as if he were on fire. Spock was turning on his heel. She couldn't let him go - not with the thoughts he was thinking.

"Where are you going?"

"He's here," she said frantically, hot tears springing to her eyes, "shit!"

"Who?"

"Spock. Oh, shit. I'll com you when I get home," she left Sulu quickly, racing in the direction of the door. She stumbled trying to catch up him. Panic coursed through her so fast and so powerfully that she felt bile rise in her throat.

"Spock!" she screamed at his retreating back.

The few party-goers who littered the streets were clearly amused by the scene. He stopped but did not turn to look at her. What did he assume she had gone to do? He had always been insecure where she was concerned, afraid that he was insufficient for her, that eventually she would find a fully human man with which to make her life. The kind of man who could laugh hysterically at a joke, someone like Sulu.

"How - how did you find me?" she asked, closing the space between herself and his turned back.

"Since the catastrophe at Moshi I thought it would be safer if there was a homing signal in your communicator. This is the first time I have ever used it. I believed you were in danger."

"I see," she said softly, "you can't put a homing device in your wife's phone. It's not the way… you should have asked me first."

"I do not believe you are in a position to lecture me on the proper behaviour for bond-mates," finally he turned to face her.

She swallowed down the tears which threatened to overflow. She couldn't think clearly when she was drunk. She couldn't formulate the words she wanted to. His face was a pale shadow of serenity in the moonlight. His black hair was matted. She could see the heat of each breath as it left his body, raindrops drifted down his face and off the hard line of his chin. This was the most defenceless she had ever seen him.

"I know, I'm sorry. It wasn't what it looked like," she put her hands on him.

"It would be appropriate if you removed your hands from my chest," he said clearly.

"Alright," she did as he wished and looked up into his eyes.

"I have read in human literature that angry human wives often commit adultery as a form of punishment," he said steadily; he could have been discussing phonology.

"So," she defended, "what are you insinuating?"

"Perhaps I am not making myself clear. Have you participated in sexual intercourse with Lieutenant Sulu?"

"No!" she shouted, shaking her head fiercely. "God, no! He's just a friend, Spock. I swear to you, I swear. How could you even ask me that?"

"Then what purpose were you serving while you were with him - so intimately engaged in a bar frequented by promiscuous cadets?"

She shook her head, feeling burning tears course down her face. She was too drunk to argue with a perfectly cognisant Spock. He was difficult to challenge at the best of times. In fact, Nyota could not see anyway out of this predicament, to make him believe her, that despite what it had looked like, the situation was, in fact, platonic.

Instead, all she said was, "I'm not like one of your scientific formulas, Spock. I make mistakes - I'm not perfect."

"It was illogical of me to have assumed that you were the closest person I have ever known to that unattainable aspiration," his voice was like freezing water. "Excuse-me," he said with a tone of finality and began to walk away from her.

"Where are you going?" she found herself chasing after him.

"I do not wish to relay that information to you."

"We can't leave it like this," her voice shook with desperation, "- you have to let me explain. You have to."

"You have explained, and I have found your explanation wholly unsatisfying. It is customary in human culture to, spend some time apart, in situations such as these, is it not?"

"You are not leaving me!" she warned him through gritted teeth. They paced through the heavy rain, each droplet pounding on the hard ground, filling the air with a hum of background noise.

"I cannot come to a considered conclusion while in your presence, Nyota." He stopped moving, saying her name with such disgust that he couldn't even mask it. "I do not wish to look upon you at this moment in time."

"Please," she begged, wiping the rain-mixed tears from her face. "You know me - you know I would never, ever cheat on you! I have no secrets from you - meld with me and you'll see it for yourself." Her arms were stretched forward, fingers splayed on his biceps, trying to force him to stay there. She took a deep breath, "I just wanted to talk and I was upset and I got drunk and we danced - that was it."

"Therein lies our dilemma," Spock's voice softened, droplets flickered off his jet-black eyelashes. Slowly he caressed her cheek with his knuckles, thumbing his fingers down her jaw-line. "I am your bond-mate and irrelevant of your motivations, you sought comfort in another, a human. It is indicative of a deeper problem, one which has perhaps been overlooked for too long."

"And what's that?" she held his wrist, her body shivering violently with adrenaline, dampness and bitter air.

"Since its nascence our relationship has been wholly illogical. Your affection for me - my reciprocated fondness. Possibly, we may finally be seeing the result of an illogical union, an inevitable dissolution."

That was the most hurtful thing he had ever said to her.

"No, Spock!" she shouted furiously in Vulcan. "The problem was not that our blood is different. It's that at the end of the day, you have always been ashamed of me!"

"Until approximately twelve minutes ago I had never been ashamed of you," he did not raise his voice to match hers.

She winced. "Yes, you have! You are ashamed of love because it's an emotion, so you fold it up and you lock it away. You're ashamed of loving me and needing to be cared for. I think our real problem," she choked violently through her own sobs, "is the fact that - whenever I need you to be more like your human mother, you turn the other way and become cold and distant - like your father! You know I'm glad we lost our baby, what chance would it have had, anyway?!"

He was speechless. She had cut him deep and said far too much. He tried to formulate words but he could not, his pale mouth simply refused to make a sound. She saw the crushed expression in his eyes, suddenly the rain was irrelevant and so was the chill. The sky continued to haemorrhage, trickling droplets onto them.

"Perhaps in this instance your assumptions are correct," his voice was barely above a whisper, "you have my sincerest apologies."

"I - I…" she sobbed into her hands, the whole world was a storm crashing down around her, she listened to the dull rhythm of rainfall, clinging to the sky so it would cry all her tears for her. Life was blades and knife-points, sharp and jagged. No amount of alcohol could relieve her suffering. She didn't want to open her eyes because she knew that she would have to see the empty space where he had stood.

* * *

_To Be Continued..._

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	10. Blood Type, TNegative

_Disclaimer: I do not own anything pertaining to Star Trek - that joy goes to the dearly departed Gene Roddenberry and Paramount Pictures._

_Beta Buddy: Some people are awesome, Miranda River is one of them. I think that sums it up._

_Author's Notes: Thanks for sticking with me guys :) E-hugs for the coolest reviewers out there: gravelgerdie, sam, Zarelle, elaine451, squishmich (did i spell it right?), mhgood(x2), FirstDraft, GibbsIsMyHomeboy18, xLilypadsx, The Noble Platypus, RandomPersonOfDoom (Lissa x), DiscoUnicorn, Sutzina Zion, SEEKER-2000 (booyah!), frostykist, nicnac, willowtree14, lulugc, Quicksilvermad, PrincessMyra, Miggs (hope your day recovered), FireChildSlytherin5._

* * *

_Deuteronomy_

by Elizawriter

* * *

Chapter Ten - Blood Type, T-Negative

There was a song she used to sing when she was little. A nursery rhyme in English. They had been taught it at school. It was called '_Patter-Cake'_. Why was it that childish things became so much more comforting as the optimism of adolescence faded and the lacklustre nature of adulthood set in? Without an answer she sang it to herself, while she walked aimlessly for minutes that turned into an hour.

"Patter cake, patter cake baker's man. Bake me a cake as fast as you can. Prick it and pat it and mark it with 'B'. Put it in the oven for baby and me. For baby and me, for baby and me. Put in the oven for baby and me."

She had said some unforgivable things and she had hurt the one person who she loved more than any other. And she knew that in his whole life no one had the capacity to hurt him like she had done with those words…

…_possibly, we may finally be seeing the result of an illogical union, an inevitable dissolution… I'm glad our baby died, what chance would it have had… You're ashamed of love…_

But he had given as good as he got. He turned his face from her as if she were some monster. He had looked at her as the creator must look upon its opus corrupted. He had looked at her the way the gods, if there were gods, must have seen fallen angels.

The night's biting air slowly began to lift and the rain eased into a simpering trickle; she hugged herself with her arms and turned to face a shop-window. Her reflection was painfully thin, drenched, her eyes heavy-lidded and glazed. Her hair hung in soaked tendrils, sticking to her face and she was shivering acutely.

_Come on, girl,_ she told herself, _you're Nyota Uhura__. __Pull yourself together. Pick up the pieces._

No one had said marriage would be easy, quite the opposite in fact. At least, her man was logical, most of the human persuasion weren't. He did not have the temper she did. He had so many good qualities, good traits, why did she have to create a mirror with all his worse ones and force him to stare at it?

He would have been a good father, she knew it. He would have been strong and protective and honest. Their child would have been blessed with someone intelligent and hard working who would persevere and be unwavering. Why hadn't she said any of those things? Perhaps, he would never have laughed for joy the way some fathers do, but he would have learned to play baseball for his son, or taken him to tap-dancing lessons, or singing, or football, or whatever he wanted.

Nyota knew innately that Spock would have been whatever his son needed. In fact, he would have been everything his son needed. He would never raise his voice, never raise his hand, he'd be constant and kind, and understanding. And he would listen and remember the important days, and his child would know his father loved him because everything his father did would have been a declaration of that love.

She was struck with a desire to say these words. The others may have been true but not so much as these. Spock would become a wonderful father. She wanted no other for her children. She reached out and hailed a shuttle-cab; it blared a disgruntled horn, spraying filthy rainwater in her direction.

The peeved driver threatened to charge her extra for damaging his upholstery.

"What can I do?" she asked him, "It's been raining."

"Well you don't have to roll in it!" he murmured, scratching patches of dry stubble on his weary face.

She clutched her communicator in her hands and saw all the missed contacts from Sulu. That mistake had already been made already, making it again would only compound her troubles. Proving to Spock that nothing was going on would only work if she kept her distance as much as possible from now on. Friend or no friend, Sulu was off-limits.

How had she not known that he feelings for her? He hung on her every word. The entire way home she dissected the late conversations they had shared on the bridge, the laughter, the meals in the mess hall. She had only seen him as a colleague, completely oblivious to the fact that he saw her as much more.

Instead, she left the line open. If Spock wanted to call her she would be waiting. They were going to talk for real this time; it was something they had not done enough of. They had to get all their worries off their chests and out into the open. Nyota was not prepared to lose him, under any circumstance. She had found him and he was hers. They still had so very much. More than enough to fight for.

The shuttle-cab stopped outside of their apartment and she credited the driver as fast as she could before scuttling into the building, up the stairs and to their door.

It was open.

It was most uncharacteristic of Spock to leave the front door open. Nevertheless, they did have an uncharacteristically severe argument. She took a deep breath and stepped into her temporary home.

"Spock?" she called. "Are you home?"

Signs of destruction were immediate. The lounge area was in complete disarray, every item that could be destroyed had been, smashed, battered, thrown. Her heart pounded hard - who had done this? Certainly not her husband. He would never destroy any object without purpose. Then she saw what she was least expecting, her worst fear, although she didn't know it till that moment.

Glittering emerald green against the simple flooring was what looked like paint. She bent down to touch it - this wasn't paint, it was blood and not at all a coincidence that her husband's T-negative type was the same colour. Apprehension seeped like a disease into every cell of her body; she followed the trail of green droplets into their bedroom, her stomach twisting itself into knot.

The mirror was shattered in two and violent streaks of jade blood were strewn across it. Her breathing became shallow and fear threatened to wrap its arms around her and squeeze until there was no air left. She refused to let it. No one touched her family - no one attacked her husband.

"Emergency services," said the voice from her communicator, "which aid do you require?"

"My house has been…"

A simple white piece of paper lay on the smashed bed, it caught her eye and she reached for it:

_Boardroom 215_.

_2.30p.m._

_All of you._

_If you com the police, we will kill him._

She severed the connection quickly. Now everything made sense. Rayne, that slimy, filthy bastard had taken her husband and he had hurt him. Spock had probably walked home and straight into an ambush. She raced towards her dresser, it was leaning precariously to one side, grabbed a few things and threw them into a bag.

Her PADD had been smashed against a wall. Their belongings were strewn across the apartment, debris of a former life. But none of that mattered. She had to find him. That was all. She had to save him from whatever had happened. That was her single source of being and sole reason for living in that moment. Her life without Spock, she couldn't imagine it.

Nyota tapped at the communicator furiously, charging out of the house and down the stairs.

"Look, dollface, I don't make a habit of house-calls," Bones moaned sleepily.

"We had a fight," she rushed, her feet pounding down the stairway, bag rocking against her shoulder. "Spock went home. There's green blood all over the apartment and a note from Rayne which threatens to kill him. I'm going to Kirk's. Meet me there."

"On my way," Bones, for the first time since she had known him, sounded shocked.

The correct transportation was readily available when one was prepared to stand in the middle of a road in order to wave down a cab irrespective of whether or not someone else sat in the passenger seat at the time. She ignored the disgruntled blast of a horn as she reached for the door and opened it.

"I'll pay your fare as well as my own," she said to the bemused old lady sitting in the back. "Just take me first. I don't care if it's out of your way."

"You okay with that?" the driver asked.

"It's fine, do as she says."

"Thanks," Nyota held on to Spock's shirt in her bag, rolling the Vulcan fabric over her fingers again and again.

"What's wrong, dear?" the old woman's windswept curls were kind over her grey eyes. She wore a shawl and a pair of sturdy walking boots. "Are you well?

"I'm fine," Nyota anxiously bit her lip, staring out the window as the vehicle failed to move any faster than was legal. "Can't you step on it?" she urged the driver.

"Doing the limit," he called back.

"Are you sure?" the lady asked again.

"Yeah," Nyota lied, "it's just - I'm late home and I don't want my family to get worried." Her forced smile was just as much of a lie.

The car stopped outside of the swanky quarters where Kirk was staying. She credited the driver and found herself stepping into the foyer of a plush series of apartments, the kind Starfleet could afford to shell out for its Captains, especially one who had all but saved the planet.

She got in the lift, impatiently tapping her foot against the floor before finally, it opened and then she banged on the antique doorway, not quite sure why Kirk had chosen such a reserved place to stay. Maybe he had grown in the last six months.

"Go away!" she heard a shout echo from inside.

"It's Uhura. Let me in!" she called right back. "Now!"

The door opened automatically, allowing the scent of heat and friction to hit her squarely in the face. It took her a moment to adjust to the particularly graphic scene laid out before her.

Kirk was naked on a couch, and the only thing covering his dignity was a semi-naked woman who looked so young she could have been a first year at the Academy. She had long red hair down to her shoulders, a lacy black bra barely covered her chest and she was flushed pink, all down her back, sweaty and breathing.

The pair reached for their clothing, strewn in a messy halo around where they had sat. Nyota was irreverent of the situation. Kirk and girls, not at all new news. What had he told this one? That the world was about to end and she needed to get laid by a hero at least once before that happened?

She dropped her bag, barely registering the girl trying to make herself somewhat decent.

"Who are you?" said the nameless eye-candy.

"None of your business," Nyota retorted and strode towards Kirk's PADD which lay on the table. She tapped the number to Spock's communicator into it. Perhaps he had put a homing signal in his for her too. Nothing came up.

"To what do I owe this great pleasure?" Kirk pulled his shirt over his head.

"Spock's gone," she muttered, typing as many combinations of words she could think of to break into the code for his homing signal.

"What do you mean - gone?"

"Rayne's taken him," she said sharply, "and left his blood all over our apartment. Bones should be here. He said he was on his way."

Kirk's face fell, the cheeky grin wiped clean from it. She began to pace, ignoring the superficial display of affection as the girl, dressed in scanty underwear which apparently passed for clothing, pawed at him.

"I'll com you babe," he said while he let her kiss him again and again.

"See ya," the redhead waved as she walked through the door, "I hope you find your friend."

Nyota flicked her hand in a gesture that could have resembled a wave if it wasn't so full of disinterest.

She heard a chair scrape towards her, and Kirk sat down.

"Give it to me again," he asked.

"We had a fight. He went home. I got in after. The apartment's trashed, his blood's everywhere. I found this."

She reached into her pocket and handed Kirk the note.

"Rayne," he said through gritted teeth. "Why weren't you there too?"

"I said - we had a fight."

"It's kind of hard to imagine," Kirk's expression was confused.

"Yeah, well - marriage _is__ -_for the polygamous anyway," she put the PADD down, unable to crack the code or ascertain whether there actually was one.

Kirk stood up and put a hand on her shoulder.

"You look terrible," he admitted. She smirked but she didn't shrug him off.

"We have to find him," she said, biting her lip, mind still racing.

"And we will."

* * *

_To Be Continued..._

_Silent Reading, like cannibalism, is frowned upon in good society._

_You know what to do - p.m. or leave a review x_


	11. The Irises Company

_**Disclaimer**: I do not own anything pertaining to Star Trek - that joy goes to the dearly departed Gene Roddenberry and Paramount Pictures._

_**The Beta Bit**: Miranda River saves the reader from cliche-overload and appalling plot-devices. Isn't she wonderful?_

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_Once again, thank you so much for reviewing, you get all the kudos I own & of course, are **not** cannibals: LCO100, mhgood, DiscoUnicorn, Selene the Slytherin, twilightplotbunny, xLilypadsx, Bacca, musicalwritergurl, elaine451, GraniaMhaol, notasilentreader, The Noble Platypus, Miranda River, Bandbabe, FireChildSlytherin5, Sutzina Zion, livvy-17, lulugc, FirstDraft, Kipling Nori, Quicksilvermad._

* * *

_Deuteronomy_

by Elizawriter

* * *

Chapter Eleven - The Irises Company

Everyone was armed. Their phasers were set to kill. The sun was shining, oblivious to how dire things were becoming on the ground. On the journey they spoke, to relieve the tension, to clarify the events for themselves and to savour it, because this was very possibly the last time.

"Zis iz impozzible," Chekov muttered, staring at the day's publication on a PADD.

"But it's happening," Bones gruffed, "only a matter of time. Capital of the Federation, gets attacked like that, out of the blue, it don't stand a chance."

"Nyota… Nyota?" Sulu nudged her.

"Yeah," she jerked upright, "what is it?"

"You seen this?" he grabbed Chekov's PADD and handed it to her.

She read the words distantly, as if they were a story in Andorian, or a piece of Tellarite history. Nothing about the article convinced her mind that it was discussing her life and her world. It proclaimed an announcement; due to a deterioration of talks between members of the United Federation of Planets and an inability to calm the hysteria over the Seven Summits, the San Francisco headquarters of Starfleet were required to cease all political movement until a new capital was selected.

Uhura knew what this really meant. Every other Federation planet was terrified of being decimated the way Vulcan had been and hence, they were tearing off old alliances, making it clear to whoever was out there, causing such destruction, that Earth stood alone. She was ripe for the picking, as long as the powers-that-were decided to stop there.

"Can't they see," Scotty said softly, "appeasement's never the way to go?"

"Didn't work in Third World War and it sure as hell won't work now," Bones added.

Kirk remained silent, staring through the window, his tactical, strategic mind formulating and reformulating the best way to get everyone into the Headquarters building, retrieve Spock and then get them all out again, alive.

"Do you remember that saying?" Nyota asked. "When they came for my neighbour I did nothing, when they came for my friend, I did nothing, when they came for me, there was no one left to help."

"Either vay, Earth iz in trouble," Chekov muttered and pulled his PADD back.

Their shuttle dropped them nearby and they took nervous steps into Starfleet Headquarters, walking in two rows of three: Uhura with Kirk and Bones, Scotty with Chekov and Sulu. The usually packed courtyard before the giant construction of glass and brick, glowing silver in the strength of the afternoon light was eerily empty. A veritable ghost town. Cadets had been sent away from training, dignitaries were fleeing, if at all possible, to their home-planets and towns.

"Stay with me," Kirk whispered as the six made it through the entrance without being stopped by anyone. The deterioration of Starfleet Headquarters finally seemed complete. It was nearly vacant, every so often an idiotic-looking piece of machinery would float through the foyer but no sign of human life. No sign of anything at all.

"Iz ee 'ere?" Chekov asked them warily, checking over his shoulder as they began to make their cautious way to the unoccupied turbo-lift. A snake of fear curled its way round Nyota's stomach. She forced it to stay still. Lack of sleep, a whole lot of worrying and a mild bout of flu, brought on by staying far too long in the pouring rain, meant she was at less than her best.

"Shh," Bones muttered and pressed the correct button.

They didn't talk in the lift. Anyone could have been listening. Rayne's men were probably watching them at every turn, most likely knew that they were armed. Nyota forced her limbs to stop their trembling and took deep breaths, concentrating on the fact that Spock was somewhere close, somewhere alive. That he was in trouble and needed her.

Sulu barely crossed her gaze, she didn't know what he was feeling: guilt, satisfaction, apprehension? When he finally looked at her, she saw a repentant shrug of his shoulders. His expression was not a smile but there was affection in it. She averted her eyes from him; at this time the only person who mattered was the one who had been kidnapped. Scotty, as usual seemed wholly amused by the entire affair, Bones looked like he was currently undergoing a public colonic and Chekov remained timid but astute. Kirk's brows were hunched in thought and he kept glancing towards her.

"I'm all-right," she mouthed to him and he nodded in response. For all his idiosyncrasies Kirk was good in a crisis. This had been his plan, from start to finish and Nyota had been too exhausted to do anything other than go along with it.

The lift stopped at its destination, and in what felt like an eon of time, the doors opened, to reveal two men and two women dressed in simple inconspicuous civilian clothing, their faces motionless, their arms fixed by their sides and their eyes, unequivocally and unifiedly, golden.

The crew raised their phasers, sharing heated glances, the tension of the situation written on their faces. How could they go forward? How could they not? The golden-eyed aggressors stood perfectly still. Not a single movement of limbs or a rising of chests, not a blink or a raising of an arm.

"Should we fire, sir?" Sulu asked.

"No," Kirk took a step forward, "no, they're not even looking at us."

"It's like they're not even human," Scotty walked out of the lift and stepped dangerously close to the still form, then his curiosity overtook him and he reached out and prodded the male's shoulder with his finger.

"Welcome," said the male, suddenly brought to life by the touch.

"Come with us," said the female and turned to walk down the corridor.

Keeping their wits about themselves and denying the tense emotions of stress growing in light of the unknown, the crew traced their steps towards the place where they had originally met Rayne the day before.

The door to Boardroom 215 opened with a whoosh and revealed the same digital horror images, the same wide ebony table. But around it were seated men who all looked uncannily like Rayne himself. Except in age. They were years apart, the oldest appeared to be in his late sixties whilst the youngest was a teenager. However, they carried themselves in exactly the same way, different versions of the same person from different times throughout their life.

"Spock!"

He was in the far corner, heavy, dark bruising around his eyes and on his hands, every spare patch of skin was bruised and bloodied in some way, and he looked, for the first time, frail. As if he didn't have enough energy to stand or to even hold his own head up in the seat. They had done something terrible to him.

"Nyota!" he whispered, head lurching.

She wanted to run forward but Bones stopped her. Every phaser was held aloft.

"Untie - him," she growled through gritted teeth.

"Unfortunately," the Rayne they were well acquainted with spoke, "none of you are in a position to dictate to us-"

"_Untie him!_" she spat, phaser squarely set in her hand, "Or I swear I will kill you where you stand."

Rayne gave something that looked alarmingly close to a smile and then he waved his hand to his younger counterpart, who stood up with a bored expression on his face and untied Spock's wrists from his chair.

Bones let her go and Nyota ran to Spock, pulling him into her arms.

"What did they do to you?" she questioned. "Where did they take you?"

"It is inconsequential," he winced as she held him tight.

She reached for his face and held it so she could see him properly. The bruises were much worse and yellowing up close, apart from that his usually bright eyes were dull and shadowed. Still, he was Spock and he was alive. And he was safe with her.

"Yesterday," she whispered, "I should have told you..."

"Re-relay any information - you wish," he slurred. The couple were oblivious to the heated conversation which Kirk was striking between the six versions of Rayne and the senior crew of the _Enterprise._

"You will come with us, without resistance."

"And what if we don't?" Kirk's eyebrow lifted slightly with his challenge. He threw the piece of paper left at Nyota's apartment onto the ebony table. "Will you send us another note?" he scoffed, his bright eyes glaring.

"You will suffer the rewards of those who displease the Irises Company."

"And what the hell are they?!"

"If you are referring to the company, we are an army, a family, a sect. All words with the same meaning - unity. That is what we represent young Captain Kirk, unity for the galaxy, Klingons and humans, Tellarites and Vulcans. If you are referring to the rewards, well they include tortures which do not culminate in death."

"Enough with the bull. What the hell have you done to our First Officer?" Bones squinted, his eyes roving over every version of Rayne as if they were cysts in serious need of being lanced.

"Spock," she felt the roughness of his bruised jaw under her fingers and suddenly found words difficult to say.

"I am safe now," discomfort strained his voice.

"Now, you could attempt to kill us, Captain Kirk," the younger Rayne said with a smile, "but you would fail as your Officer did not at our previous meeting."

"Rather," the oldest version continued, his rusty voice laced with age and weariness, "as we have already taken what it is we require, a sufficient quantity of blood from your Commander Spock, we will simply leave your planet to those who threaten it."

"We attempted to appeal to your intellect and your sense of self-importance, Captain Kirk, but you refused to be swayed. Earth remains in dire straits," the middle-aged version spoke finally, "and like you, lost without an ally in the Universe. Your Commander will not live through the night - the filthy half-breed has done his only duty by donating his essence to our cause, in this act he has made his life an acceptable mutation of natural order. His death will right the balance."

Smack!

None of them had seen it coming; not the crew or the middle-aged Rayne himself. Nyota herself did not realise that she had smashed him over the head with the back of her phaser until he dropped unceremoniously to the ground. She couldn't control herself, the rage bubbled up to an extent which she had never felt before, then her boot connected to flesh with dull thuds, furious that this Rayne had attacked her innocent husband and called him such vicious, xenophobic insults.

"If you ever touch my husband again, I will kill you!" Then she kneeled down and pointed the phaser to Rayne's head. "Bones! Sulu! Grab Spock!"

They stared at her in a frenzied shock.

"Now!" she shouted. They jumped into action, doing as she told them, lifting him from the seat in which he sat.

"The building is surrounded," the oldest Rayne said, barely glancing at the beaten form of his younger self, with a bemused disinterest, "you will not leave it alive."

"Ve vill transport," Chekov's voice shook.

"And we'll kill you on our way out," Kirk snarled; he moved out of the way as Bones and Sulu half-carried and half-dragged a barely conscious Spock through the open doorway.

"Are you sure about that?" the oldest Rayne's golden eyes bored into Kirk's blue ones. "You have four point six minutes, Captain Kirk, until the rest of our forces arrive in this room under specific orders to kill you."

"You said, you had what you needed," came the effortless response, "What was that?"

"The goblin's blood," middle-aged Rayne stood to his feet, holding his side and wiping spittle from his face. "That's the key to the Red Matter," he admitted. "That's all we ever really wanted. His T-negative is different to any other. It's…"

"Did you just call my husband a goblin?" Nyota snarled. Then she saw scarlet. Kirk shoved the other men back through the door in the exact same moment that she fired her phaser and all six Raynes blasted molten light from their eyes in one thunderous unison. She was too fast for them and leapt back through the door and smashed the circuitry which held the lock.

"Rot in there!" she shouted as the Raynes screamed in deafening accord. The effect of all their radiances, shining at once must have been excruciating.

"Christ!" Kirk glared at her, keeping a reasonable distance. "I did not see that coming!"

Sulu's mouth was wide open. "You could have got us all killed," he told her, "no one knew what they were capable of? Nyota, have you lost your mind?"

"Spock," she turned around, oblivious to Sulu's words and saw Bones knelt over her usually strong, powerful husband. It was a surreal moment, seeing him incapacitated. The world might as well have been spinning the wrong way.

"His heart - it's slowing, doll."

"Do something!" she shouted.

"With what? No medical supplies, no facility, no nothing."

"He needs blood," Kirk deduced. "They took a lot of his blood."

"So - we have to get it back," she cradled Spock's head, pushing Bones' medical hands away, staring at her husband's bruised face, the rough patches of blue and yellow. "Spock, stay with me. Please. Look at me - look right at me."

"Scotty, find the nearest transport," Kirk barked, "Sulu - Chekov, make sure this floor is secure and that those golden-eyed freaks stay exactly where we've put them. I'm going to com High Command and tell them their heads out of their asses."

A familiar chorus of 'aye, Captain' rang through the corridor and the others sped to their respective duties. At least they had tasks, duties, the familiarity of subordination. Nyota only had Spock with his back against the wall, while she fussed over his cuts and contusions, unable to keep her hands off his skin. It was clammy and cold. It didn't feel at all like him.

"Damn his wild Vulcan physiology," Bones scanned Spock with his tricorder.

"Can't you just make him some more blood?" she begged.

"With what?" Bones shrugged.

"We're at HQ, they've got to have medical in here somewhere."

"I'll try, doll," he patted her on the shoulder, and heaved himself off the ground.

They were alone. She pulled him closer, cradling him in her arms, feeling the coolness of his usually hot skin, the perspiration of a life receding.

"We've been here before," she recalled the dreadful day in Moshi when the roles had been reversed and she lay fighting for her own life.

"You - are - correct," his eyelids were heavy and he struggled to keep them open.

"I am so sorry about last night," she whispered.

"You were incensed - I did not hold you responsible for your words - and our union was - entirely logical," he coughed, "from its commencement."

She gave him a small, hesitant smile. "Now stay with me - because I need you to give Jim a logical reason why I almost just got us all killed."

"I - grow - tired," he admitted, his eyelids closing further.

Bones reappeared, a hypo in one hand and a vial of a vile looking substance in another.

"How's he doing?" he leaned over.

"He's getting weak," she moved away just a fraction so Bones could reach Spock's heart, where it lay on his side, under an elongated ribcage.

"K'diwa?" Spock's eyes closed.

"I'm here - I'm here," she consoled.

Bones, picked up the tricorder and dropped it quickly, clicking the vial into place and punching it into Spock's side.

"What's wrong with him?" she cried.

"He's going into cardiac arrest!"

* * *

_To Be Continued... tomorrow._

_**In the words of Danny Kaye, 'life is a great big canvas, and you should throw all the paint on it you can' - leave a review :D**_


	12. The Deuteronomy

_**Disclaimer**: I do not own anything pertaining to Star Trek - that joy goes to the dearly departed Gene Roddenberry and Paramount Pictures._

_**Beta Quote of the Week**: …just a saccharine corpse of an interesting philosophical question…' - Miranda River, insert a dozen superlatives here._

_**Author's Notes**: N.B. I'm naming a future character, vote on my profile. E-hugs & smooches for: Selene the Slytherin, Quicksilvermad, DiscoUnicorn, AraBellaSnape, FireChildSlytherin5, Birdgirl90, Bacca, elaine451, livvy-17, The Noble Platypus, mhgood, xLilypadsx, Sutzina Zion, SEEKER-2000, RandomPersonOfDoom (Lissa), bluechampaegne, Bandbabe, Cap Streeter, T'Leba (thanks again x), Miggs, johnnymommy19, kat cubed._

_Special request for you guys at the end of the chapter... please acquiesce._

* * *

_Deuteronomy_

by Elizawriter

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Chapter Eleven - The Deuteronomy

"No," she cried, "he can't be. He can't! Spock! Spock!"

Her screams caught in her throat. She had seen death before, many times and deaths which occurred while on missions in space were no less gruesome than those which occurred on planets. The realism of fatality was an integral part of an officer's existence. The fear of it kept them all vigilant, the glory of it in battle, was praised and vilified in equal measure. Nyota knew about tragedy, curtailed lives, young people cut down in their prime just as the stem of a plant is snapped, leaving the sap to dry and wither. But this was her husband and suddenly death was not an acceptable conclusion.

The world seemed to slow around her. She saw their entire relationship drift into a place her body could not follow. They had always been so right for each other, so similar; prepared to sacrifice everything in order to achieve their ambitions. They were both headstrong and intelligent and diligent. Yes, they had fought, but their fight had only ever been the internal struggle of a mind against itself, one which knew that without its memories, or its conscience, there would be absolutely no way forward, no resolution. How could her body live without her mind?

Then everyone else was there - Sulu, Chekov, Kirk. Their faces were backdrops in a nightmare. She ignored them, unable to focus on anything other than Spock. What exactly would she do with herself he didn't come back? If he didn't start to breathe, if his powerful heart refused to beat green blood through his veins? What would she be if for the rest of her life, she was only left with the remembrance of him, the way his voice had sounded?

It was incomprehensible. In fact, the concept of losing him, the reality of it threatened to overwhelm her. She was back in her coma, floundering under the depths of a black ocean, viscous and unrelenting, but this time there was no hope for the surface, not if he didn't return.

"Pretty faint," Bones barked, "but I got a heartbeat."

"Zey are coming!" Chekov's cherubim face was struck with fear, his eyes glued to the electronic PADD in his hand "Many of zem. Ve cannot fight zis many."

"So, we take the Raynes as hostages," Kirk thought out-loud.

"And have six of those yellow-eyed freaks on our tail too?" Bones chagrined.

"There's a transporter bay," Sulu offered, "the floor above this one. It's how they all got here. I'm sure of it."

"So where do we go, Lieutenant?" Kirk asked, "Where's safe?"

"I don't know," Sulu muttered, looking down at Uhura. She was bent over, staring at Spock, her hands resting very lightly on his bludgeoned skin.

"If you're done with your little tête-à-tête help me carry him!" Bones put his head under Spock's shoulder, Kirk did likewise and they got to their feet. The half-Vulcan's legs dragged underneath and his dark head hung forward, completely incapable of supporting itself.

The vibration of what felt like a thousand footsteps shook the floor and a distant blast declared that their holds on the turbo-lifts had been overridden.

They all began to run, muscles aching, screaming for release, into a shaft of awkward, disused stairs, following Chekov and Scotty, both heads staring with equal intensity at the same PADD. They climbed to the next floor and were greeted by voices. Almost too many to count.

Uhura took a deep breath and edged herself round the doorway. Most of Rayne's golden-eyed lackeys were on the right hand-side of the door. On the left, she could make out a transporter bay, large enough to take four at once.

"What do you see?" Kirk whispered, hoisting Spock's deadweight into a more comfortable position.

"Lots of 'em," she responded, "but they're all on the right. If we're fast and we set our phasers to kill…"

"We may have a small chance," he finished for her, "Scotty, can you set the transporter controls?"

"Not from here," he muttered, "I just might - be able to send us to wherever they came from. Even that's not a given."

"Okay, okay," Kirk swallowed, his blue eyes shifting. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phaser, gripping it with the hand that wasn't holding Spock's limp body. "Sulu and Uhura, cover-fire, Scotty and Chekov, send us to wherever, just as long as it ain't here. As soon as we're through, beam yourselves up - okay?!"

"Aye, Captain," they chorused in a whisper.

"On my count," Kirk nodded at Bones and he nodded back. It felt like goodbye. Uhura turned quickly, lifted Spock's barely recognisable face and kissed his swollen mouth softly.

"I love you," she said in a strong voice.

Then she gave Sulu a small smile, nodded at Scotty and raised a hand in a salute to Chekov. They had all come with her knowing how dangerous it was. They had saved her husband from almost certain death, comforted her in her time of trouble. These people were the only ones, if she had to die this moment, she would want to be with.

Kirk whispered, "1… 2… 3…"

They dashed through the door, the group was a well-oiled machine, Uhura didn't hesitate before she started firing in tandem with Sulu; she didn't even look at her targets, who they were and what they were doing was irrelevant.

Bright beams of light clashed with the energy of the phasers as the golden army of the Raynes unleashed their weapons and began to return fire.

"Energising!" she heard Scotty shout and started taking steps back. There was a radiant heat down her back as she felt the pulses of energy carry her husband, Kirk and Bones to relative safety.

Debris flew in all directions, smatterings of plaster, broken metal, shards of glass until eventually, she realised that she and Sulu might never make it in time. She raised her phaser to the ceiling and fired as many shots as she could.

The ceiling caved before them with a mighty crash. They leapt behind, where Scotty and Chekov were waiting, trembling on the pads.

Within seconds of them stepping on, they faded into a world of smoke and haze and ice cold.

She was on her knees, disorientated and injured.

A piece of shrapnel had pierced her thigh. It stung horrifically but she didn't have time for the pain, only to find Spock, only to know he was safe, only to reorient herself with these brand new, smoky surroundings.

"Get off the bay!" Kirk shouted.

"What?!" she called, her ears still ringing, the vibrations of a shaking building in her head.

"Get off!" he shouted again. She hopped away from the platform quickly.

Just then hazy figures began to appear on the transporter pads, six uniformed figures, clearly armed and poised to attack.

Kirk shot them in quick succession before they could fully materialise and then he fired everything his phaser had left at the transporter bay itself. The bright white pads crackled and sizzled before emitting foul black smoke and bursting into furious orange flames. Within seconds, the fire died, leaving only a burnt-out shell, a dishevelled carcass.

Nyota lay prone on the ground, her body ablaze with adrenaline and shock.

Sulu's voice came through the noise, she knew it was him but for probably the first time in her life, the words coming out of his mouth made no sense whatsoever. She knew he was speaking in Federation Standard, she knew he was talking to her, the gaze of eyes and his gesticulations told her so but she was very shaken.

"I'm okay," she winced as she tried to push herself up. Something was torn, she was bleeding - there wasn't time to find out what exactly. "Where's Spock?" her head whipped around.

"He's - come on!" Sulu grabbed her and pulled her upright. "There's no time. They're going to find another transporter bay and we don't even know where we are."

She limped on her good leg and he helped her to where others were seated in a semi-circle, hastily created, by necessity more than anything else.

"How's he doing?" she asked Kirk, the smell of sweat and fear was strong in the air.

"Godammit, not you too!" Bones grabbed Nyota's thigh and she flinched, wincing with the pain.

"Get off!" she hissed.

"Not a chance," he held her firm and tied a bandage around her wound, very tightly, but rather than protest, she held her tongue.

"Guys!" Scotty's voice called from a darkened area of the hangar-like structure they had found themselves in. It was one-part storage and another part-laboratory, vials of hundreds of shapes and sizes were lined along distant shelves and there were what looked like diagrams of disaster areas strewn over tables.

It was a strategic outpost of some kind, the makeshift home of an underground army.

That noise, an incessant, horrifying noise. She knew it so well, her sensitive aural pathways were as strong as ever, they were calling her to the source of that sound.

"Guys!" Scotty said louder.

"What in the hell could be more important than the half-dead guy?" Bones barked.

"You _want_ to see this."

Kirk rose to his feet, somehow managing to look as though he had just rolled out of bed, instead of facing an imminent demise.

"Can you hear that?" Nyota dragged her bad leg behind her, lead by the sound, that irritating, relentless hum and buzz, the trickling of it. She found the source on a neatly laid out table, a PADD which replayed the same signal over and over again. She closed her eyes, listened carefully and then she heard them, co-ordinates in Romulan. The same ones, repeated slowly, pedantically almost, she searched the table but could not find anything to write with.

So she grabbed the PADD and took it with her.

"Uhura!" Bones called.

"Yeah," she turned, hobbling back to where Spock lay. When she reached him, she allowed herself to unceremoniously drop the floor by his side.

"We found some blood - not a lot - but enough. I need to get him to a medical centre."

She felt the danger before she saw any sign of it.

A slow whistling through the air, heralding an arrival, an impending confrontation, the kind from which no one could return.

"Zix transports!" Chekov ran back towards them.

"Get in the ship!" Kirk bellowed.

"What ship, are you crazy?" Bones rubbed his tired forehead.

"This one!"

Sulu, who must have been at the helm turned on the auxiliary lights and like a beacon of magical proportions, an enormous, beautiful vessel emerged from the darkness; she was lean and sleek, her construction was painstaking and on her side were the words _U.S.S. Deuteronomy._

"Woah!"

"Looks just like my ex," Bones' mouth was slack.

"Get - in! That's an order!" Kirk yelled.

The convoy struggled aboard, into the hull of the foreign ship, completely unacquainted with its structure or supplies. Only Scotty seemed to be managing to make some semblance of sense as he led them through the sleek but resilient craft.

They winced, dragged and carried through the belly of the sparkling silver ship and up into the main bridge where Sulu was seated, sweat pouring into his eyes.

"Incoming, Captain," he grimaced.

"What?" Kirk leaned over his shoulder, while Bones, exhausted, laid Spock on the floor hastily.

"Six transports."

"Uhura, get me a com!"

"Yes, sir," she reached over for what was clearly the communication panel and hailed the nearby ships. Her thigh ached as if it were about to split in two but she gritted her teeth and continued her work. "They're ordering us to land immediately, sir," she hitched through the pain.

"And if we don't?" Kirk's terse blue eyes stared forward.

"They're threatening to shoot us down."

"What's this boat got in firepower?" Kirk muttered, chewing his lip, automatically in Captain mode.

"She's a beauty, never seen anything like her. More of a killer, less of a cruiser," Scotty moved from panel to panel, scratching the back of his head as though he were making sure it was attached to the rest of him.

"Chekov."

"Yes, Captain."

"Can she go to warp?"

"Ves."

"Good. Sulu, smash these bastards head-on and take us off-world. Bones, see to Spock. Uhura, find me anyone who knows anything about the Irises Company. They just might have our mountains."

* * *

_To Be Continued..._

___T__he difference between fiction and reality? Fiction has to make sense - Tom Clancy._

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**For The Reviewers :)**

___**1) What are **__**you****r**** viewpoints on 'lemons'? **_

_____**2) What are your biggest questions on Rayne, the Irises Company and the Seven Summits?**_


	13. The Abyss 'Rated M'

_**Disclaimer: **I do not own anything pertaining to Star Trek - that joy goes to the dearly departed Gene Roddenberry and Paramount Pictures._

_**Beta Magic:** Saepe hoc mecum cogitavi, Miranda River, magnae auctoritatis es._

_**Author's Note:** Here follows a chapter with numerous sexually explicit references, often referred to as a 'lemon'. However, I feel it is necessary for character development. It does not affect the narrative structure of 'Deuteronomy' in any way, so feel free to overlook it. My usual reviewer adorations will be at the start of Ch. 14 - Duel._

* * *

_Deuteronomy_

_by Elizawriter_

* * *

Chapter Thirteen - The Abyss (Rated - Hard M)

_N.B. Vulcan Translations (c) VLD:** ah** - yes; **khav-kur** - brown -; **nesh-kur** - black; **kin-kur** - gold; **k'diwa** - beloved; **k'lal'a'tar** - infinity; **shan'hal'lak** - falling in love; **adun** - husband; **nekwitau **- impose or thrust urgently; do forcibly; exert force (verb)._

"Khav-kur."

"Ah," came the restless whisper, floating into his sensitive ears, "my skin is khav-kur, your eyes are nesh-kur, and the stars are kin-kur."

Her small, dark hand gripped his large pale one. He saw an element of her former strength, of her former self drawn from the debris of a life that was smattered remains on a threatened world. Humans were so unnervingly durable, despite their relatively weak physiology. She should have been resting, but instead she was here, where she would remain beside him without fail.

"K'diwa," he reached out to the softness of her face.

"Ah," she affirmed his positive, "k'lal'a'tar, and forever, and forever."

"K'lal'a'tar is improbable, if not impossible."

"I don't care."

He shifted in his uncomfortable bed, aware of the soreness in his usually agile and dexterous limbs.

"You are ready to stand," she said softly. "You have been meditating and your healing is complete."

"Where are we, Nyota?"

"We are in the abyss. We will not return from it," her unwavering gaze burned into him, and the eyes, those russet orbs of light and contentment faded into sparkling gold, her face melted, waxy and steaming, dripping brown over his skin, burning him over and over again.

He did not scream. It was not in him to submit to such an outburst of emotion.

Then the light came, bright, spectacular, shining, blazing, burning everything and in the same instant it was swallowed by a mouth, tongue-less, toothless but black and ravenous, gaping, chewing and devouring a whole world, a whole planet of beings, millions of years of history, of growth, blood-soaked soil, the seed which had been planted in the womb of Vulcan.

Spock opened his eyes.

He knew it had been a dream and a dream was simply a mind's mechanism to rid itself of mental distractions from conscious hours. However, he was surprised to find his limbs responsive, he could flex his palms into fists and back again.

Her scent wafted through his senses first, followed by the sound of her breathing.

"Computer, dim lights."

She captivated him instantly. It was shan'hal'lak, the sensation of being engulfed, overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of her presence. Her small mouth was pursed in the concentration of sleep, her dark brown skin glossed due to the heat of his own body, elevating her own temperature. Her heart was beating in a steady rhythm.

He cocked his head to one side, oblivious to anything that had happened before that moment. Then he bent his frame forward and pressed his profile ever so lightly against her own, her breath was warm on his mouth, sour but pleasant. The proximity of her flesh brought his own roaring to life.

There was no conceivable way of rewinding events that had already come to pass. There was only the opportunity to endeavour to create a future which was more affirmative. He kept his face there, her soft button nose pressed against his own, her breaths continuing to fall upon him, reacquainting himself with her presence, her scent, the pounding of her heart as the vital organ sourced nutrients to her cellular structure.

She sighed and reached for him, draping her arm around his shoulder. The action was clearly instinctual, a simple routine they had slipped into over their months of union.

"Spock?" her voice was heavy with sleep, her vocal cords were still adjusting to wakefulness.

"It is I," he replied the only way his logic would allow him.

Her hold grew firm, attempting to clutch him towards her, to envelope him inside her small, thin arms.

"You're - awake," her physical strength was incomparable to her resilient and robust mind. He returned her embrace with equal fierceness, suddenly very aware that it had been months since they had been this intimate. It was the longest they had ever spent without intercourse. He understood through her the way physical intimacy could strengthen emotional ties.

She winced, taking in her breath sharply.

He stilled, loosening his hold. "Are you in discomfort?"

"My thigh," she said softly, as if raising her voice would dispel the closeness, "it's been fixed up - just twinges, that's all."

He held her less intensely this time. There were so many questions to ask. They ranged from what had happened since he was overcome at their apartment to where they currently were. But all those things could, and would have to wait. For in this particular moment, he lay in the arms of his beloved.

Slowly, her slender leg drew its way up his own, until she rested her heel against his calf, pressing him fully to her. His body knew what this meant, the hardness of her nipples pressed against his chest, the smoothness of her arms. There was nothing in his mind but this. The compartments in which he kept other thoughts and duties were spilled out when he had faced his death with very real apprehension and almost overwhelming fear.

"I'll make love to you every day until I die," she breathed into his throat, both hands spread on his chest.

"That is entirely implausible," he lifted her face to his own.

Humans often relied on words, they used them for deceit and dishonesty, whereas Vulcans were determined solely by their actions, their words were simply a reiteration or confirmation of those actions. She did not get to speak again because his mouth caught her reply in a humid tangle of tongues and lips; she groaned against him, pulling him closer with her leg and arms, even though he could calculate there was only one way they could become any closer than this.

The heat from the kiss emanated from both of them until his tongue seemed to burst free from hers to take her chin, her throat and the entire length of her nape. Then he pulled her so she was lying on him, he often found himself taken aback by how light she was, how delicate.

The way her spine lurched back whenever he touched her thigh made him careful. She was still experiencing pain even though the internal healing was superficially complete. He had to be careful. He did not want to cause her more discomfort. He was remorseful; he should never have left her in the rain, regardless of his own presumptions.

The memory painfully resurfaced in his mind: the temperature was six degrees too low for her to maintain an average body temperature, her clothing was saturated, she was inebriated, shivering violently and in a state of extreme distress. As her adun he should have never left her in such a way. The greater probability lay in the chance that she could have met mortal danger on the streets of an overpopulated city.

He held her tighter, applying more pressure than he should have, balancing precariously between his need to satisfy his yearning for her and to ensure her pleasure. His fingers clawed through the thin night-shirt she wore. The fabric did not smell of her, it was recently created in a replicator, recently produced, carrying only a hint of her scent. He had to get it off her.

She trembled under his touch, still roaming the indeterminate state between full consciousness and slumber. She trusted him implicitly, perhaps in his whole life she was the only one who did. It was not conducive to her agreeing with him or being subordinate to him, but the trust was still in place. There had been far too many things hindering this trust: words brashly spoken, sorrow poorly expressed, grievances, both founded and contrived in nature, all irrelevant, all paled in comparison to what lay between them at this very moment.

"Lights off," she said, shuddering under his touch.

Not even the light lingered between them now.

Her fingers traced up his spine slowly and he moved her so she lay on her side. His whole form was pressed against the back of hers. Her reaction was a grumble but he refused to let her turn back. This was the positioning they had been the last time they had intercourse. She had climaxed then, so it was likely she would again.

Although she had previously professed that she did not relish the fact that his face was hidden when she, in her own words, 'came'. It was a strange use of syntax, that verb 'to come', it was indicative of arrival, more suited to an expedition. Yet it was fitting. She saw intercourse as a journey to an eventual destination. The only one he could think of consisted of discharge and exhilaration.

He reached over her warm shoulders, she reached behind him, the fingers of her hand, searching for the line of his jaw as he caressed her breasts, kissing her arm, leaving wet spots of saliva in a trail to her lips. He reached for her leg and hooked it up so his own fingers could reach her clitoris.

She responded best when he whispered into her ear at the same time.

The words were never recalled afterwards. They made little sense during the act itself, in fact, he assumed it was the tone and inflection of his voice as he massaged her which caused the desired effect. Her body's warm natural lubrication was soon more than ample, her breathing laboured and restrained, every so often she would sigh or jolt as he penetrated her with his fingers.

When she groaned the sound was diminutive and he sensed that she wanted to share with him, to shift the sexual focus from herself. He would gain his own gratification, it would not be long. But in this single act, he bore the anticipation that she might begin to forgive him for the cruel words which had passed between them. This was, in effect, their first time since the traumas they had endured.

"Inside me," she muttered impatiently, "Nekwitau!"

He kissed her neck, spreading her most intimate folds and situated himself appropriately. In the darkness it was an estimation, so he was slow as he pierced her. She went rigid as he did so, holding her breath, as if waiting for something. He filled her fully and she tightened around him with a sigh.

Then he reached for her face, trapping his hand between her and the pillow. This was the way it was before - they would meld every time in body and mind. It was draining for her but it strengthened their bond and heightened her pleasure.

She cried out his name as she felt his vast perceptions combine with her own, to liken a human's emotions to a Vulcan's was like comparing a molecule to a star. It exhausted her, it overwhelmed her, making intercourse infrequent but momentous. This time, he sensed that the connection was comforting to her, the act less carnal and more necessary, an affirmation of the fact that they were still alive.

There were usually colours in the meld, vivid and striking, a kaleidoscope of shapes as they shared these images in a sole consciousness. However, this time, there was only a pulsing white light.

He took charge of the rhythm, making sure to keep his pace sure and melodic; sweat poured off her, the scent of her perspiration hammered his control. She ground her hips against him, forcing herself onto him, squeezing at his erection in what seemed to be a wholly involuntary motion. She gripped the hand that was fastened to her face and held its wrist firmly.

He pistoned into her harder, gripping her securely to him, her moans were choked with whimpers and he knew innately, as if they were his own sobs that these were not tears of pain or grief, but simply tears of relief, that she could feel this way again, that they could be one this way again, that despite all the other things in the world that had changed, this had not.

He held her tighter.

"Weep not," he mumbled into her thick, wavy hair.

"I - I -" she could not speak as her body quaked and bucked into him, trembling as it sought its release in wave after wave of contracting muscles and sobs and tremors. She was too tight and her orgasm so aggressive and forceful that he could not restrain himself any longer.

He pressed his face into her damp hair and with a soundless sigh spurted jets of fluid into her. The euphoria of the release shattered his senses and his thoughts, all he could do was cling to her as she too, clung to him, her body still pulsing throughout with pleasure and release.

Their breaths slowed and faded, they lingered on the edge of sleep, reluctant to disconnect, to pull away, to allow the air between their flesh.

"We shouldn't have done that," she whispered.

"I wholly disagree," he replied, thoroughly exhausted. It was early in his recovery to put his body under such strain.

"Contra-shots don't work with antibiotics," she said softly, reaching up to tangle her fingers into his hair, caressing the tips of his ears and letting her fingers drift to his earlobe. The darkness was comforting and refreshing. They were only a pair of satiated smells and tastes.

"I am fully aware of this fact," he turned her cheek towards him and pressed his lips against what felt like the bridge of her nose. "It is my sole wish that in this life you have everything you desire. Everything which is in my power to give you. Our contraception is not solely your responsibility. I had a procedure when we arrived in San Francisco - I will remain infertile until we wish to procreate."

"Spock!" she gasped. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"If the procedure had been in effect you would not have become pregnant," his fingertips brushed the inner-side of her arm, "and you would not have miscarried our son."

She took a deep breath and gently turned herself over, feeling the bed accommodate the shift in her weight.

"Still, you didn't have to," she mumbled to his mouth.

"I wished to," he whispered, cradling her head as if it were fragile. "I wish to do all which is in my power-"

"No," she pressed her mouth in the darkness, catching his chin, " - you don't - have to be anything other than you."

Her lips remained touching his skin in the silence which followed.

"Nyota - I could not see - in your mind. Have you forgiven me?"

"What for?" she drew her fingertips lazily across his firm shoulder.

"I spoke brashly, I will never speak to you in such a way again."

"Shh," she kissed the cheek nearest to her mouth in the darkness. "Tomorrow. I have forgiven you, I know you have forgiven me. I am blessed, I have my adun."

Their tongues found each other, sending both into a heady, blissful reunion. Not another word was spoken that night, words were simply inessential. She would have held onto him for hours, but his skin was, as it had always been, far too tepid. So eventually she laid on her side of the bed making sure to keep his fingers intertwined with hers, waiting until this peaceful interval ran its course. Life was unrelenting, it would soon speed back into its inexorable pace. She savoured her abyss.

* * *

_To Be Continued..._

* * *

**Albert Camus once said, 'Love demands the impossible, the absolute, the sky on fire, inexhaustible springtime, life after death, and death itself transfigured into eternal life.' **

**Spread a little love, leave a review.**


	14. Duel

_**Disclaimer:** I do not own anything pertaining to Star Trek - that joy goes to the dearly departed Gene Roddenberry and Paramount Pictures._

_**Beta than ever**: Miranda River, dum spimus spemus, while we breathe, we hope._

_Also - what happens when someone farts on the bridge? It's got to stink and there's nowhere to run._

_**Author's Note:** If you don't like lemons but you read mine - thankyou. Back to our usual programming. Thank-you all so much for alerting my little story. It has overwhelmed me in the best way possible. Exceptional adorations: Kryska (x a million), Miranda River, bluchampaegne, xLilypadsx, Oberon7, DiscoUnicorn(x2), Quicksilvermad(x2), mhgood, Miggs(x2), Sutzina Zion(x2), T'Leba, Birdgirl90(x2), Bacca(x2), Selene the Slytherin, vickie, FireChildSlytherin5, SEEKER-2000(x2), lulugc, Cap Streeter, johnnymommy19, musicalwritergurl, Obvs-obsessed, kat cubed, Jareth's Genevieve._

* * *

_Deuteronomy_

_by Elizawriter_

* * *

Chapter 14 - Duel

When she awoke, she found herself covered in regulation blankets, warm and refreshed. She stretched and rolled over, not quite sure of where she was. The chances were that she was at her apartment with Spock, but the pale colour of the walls and the slant of the light fittings, the shape of the panels were wrong. She was not on the _Enterprise_, either.

But she _was_ on a ship. The encompassing sense of artificial air and gravity had a pureness which was difficult to put into words. The vessel was always ever so still, even at warp speed it glided, floated, suspended in a mammoth infinity of nothingness. She suddenly felt as though she were finally at home.

There was a grunt from her side and she rolled over. On a hastily made floor-bed constructed out of numerous blankets lay Chekov. His angelic face was pink from the pressure of sleep and a trail of clear dribble ran from his slack mouth to the pillows which supported his head. She gave a silent, sleepy chuckle and resisted the urge to reach out, whisper 'Pavel', and muss up his hair.

There was no shower in the immediate vicinity and there were no clothes for her to change into. So she stood up and headed for the door. Bones had seen all of her from angles no human should, Spock was her husband, Kirk had undressed her enough times in his head and as for the others, well they were like brothers. There were so many more important things in life than showing a little flesh to male counterparts.

She stepped into the relatively cool corridor, silver paneling and light fixtures flickered on as they sensed her presence. The layout of this ship was so strange as she made her way to the left. There were a few doors along the way but this was not meant to be lived in, completely unlike the _Enterprise. _It was laid out more like a battleship, used for short periods of time but not intended for long-distances or large numbers of crew.

"Uhura!" she nearly jumped out of her skin as Scotty's palm landed flat on her shoulder.

"Montgomery Edward Scott - you scared me half-to-death!" she gasped at him, her eyes wide.

"No, I didn't. What _would_ have scared you all-the-way-to-death," Scotty's eyes shone at her, "is walking that way into the exonic shaft and finding yourself face-to-face with a fully-charged plasma conduit."

She ran five fingers into her morning hair with an uninterested sigh. "Is everyone alright? I went to sleep with Spock and woke up with Chekov."

"Some would call that an upgrade," he chirped. She gave him a playful punch. "I was coming to get you anyway, it's positively riveting on the bridge."

"Can't I even shower first?" she pleaded.

"There isn't one."

"You're not serious!"

"I am," he replied. They continued to walk at an easy pace. "Hydraulics in this beauty could bring a warship to its knees but only real water's in the ration packs. Replicator can just about handle enough to drink. I'm working on re-routing a few valves of the hydro-static system but they could sooner boil you alive than give you a decent wash."

Nyota was aware of the coolness of the ground against her bare feet but Scotty was enamoured by his new toy and she obliged him more out of familiarity than anything else. Surely things were going to be okay if he was still rambling about complex machinery and quantum mechanics.

They had arrived at the bridge. It was so close, not fifty metres away from where she had been sleeping. The door opened without ceremony and revealed Kirk and Spock very much locked in a heated battle. Their eyes were set onto each other's with the intensity of lovers. Bones sat in front of the communications console, munching potato chips, Sulu's legs were crossed as he watched from his station.

Everyone's gaze was centred on the small surface between Spock and Kirk on which lay a single three-dimensional chess board. Its traditional black-and-white squares were littered with pieces. Kirk was playing the white ones and Spock, the black. They were tied currently with two pawns and a knight each.

Her presence disturbed the match.

"Lieutenant," Spock's eyes darted from the board and he stood up and walked over to her.

"Now I love a lady who doesn't feel the need to make the effort," Kirk swivelled in his chair so his head hung over the back of it, blinking his eyes at her lasciviously. She suddenly wished he wasn't so apt at undressing her mentally.

"You left me - and sent in Chekov," she gave Spock a small smile, ignoring Kirk. Her husband's dark eyes were brighter than she remembered. He was almost fully recovered.

"I could not bring myself to wake you," he replied. ""Captain, permission to be excused?" although he spoke to another, his dark eyes remained fixed on her.

"Take all the time you need," Kirk swivelled in his chair once more, "I'll kick your ass when you get back."

She turned on her heel, still painfully aware of how little she was wearing compared to other members of the crew. He took her by the hand and led her to where a simple metallic container was filled with water. Then he handed her a towel.

"I assumed you would have need of this," he said, reading her mind. "the water is at an appropriate temperature."

"Oh, thank-you!" she shut the door and whipped off her nightgown quickly. "When Scotty told me there was no water I dreaded the thought."

She wet the towel and used it to wash herself quickly, watching as he reached over to the furthest corner and lifted a pile of neatly folded clothes.

"It is not as effectual as a sonic shower but - as we must manage our hydra quota-"

"It's just right," she soothed. "Did you replicate my clothes too?"

"Yes," he laid them on the surface nearby and then stood, facing away from her while she cleaned herself.

The only sound which filtered into the silence was the trickling of water as it soaked the towel and she wrung it out, rubbing every patch of her skin with the wet cloth over and over again. She felt as though she were cleaning the bad luck away, the negative cosmic karma they had somehow managed to obtain.

"Where are we?" she asked him, reaching for his shoulder. He turned to face her glistening, naked body. "You've seen it all before," she reminded him and reached for her underwear. He leaned over, acknowledging the futility of turning away from his striking wife and separated out the things she would need, holding her bra in one hand.

"The ship is currently functioning on impulse engines. A course has been set for Vulcan."

"New Vulcan?"

"No." She turned around and he clasped the bra for her.

"Why?" she spoke through her jumper as she pulled it over her head.

"During my captivity - I heard Cassius Rayne relay to his colleagues that a signal had been received from an alien spaceship, from an alternate reality. The only way for us to intercept that signal is to meet it at its point of conception."

"But you don't even know who it is. We don't even know what Rayne wants."

"That is as may be. However, I do know that the Irises Company are _not_ behind the diminishing mountains and millions. They are an energy conglomerate, their origins are currently a mystery. They had hoped to harness human life potential in order create massive surges in energy but were thwarted in their attempts." He was holding something out to her. A hair brush.

"What did they want the energy for?"

"I assume the irony will not be lost on you - to create Red Matter."

"So where does your blood come into the equation?" she was grateful to him, for showing such tenderness and appreciation for her welfare. But she was also worried. Both their emotional temperaments were unstable, was a trip to the black hole where his home-planet used to be really what they needed right now?

"The t-negative type of my blood cells is extremely rare, being half human and half Vulcan, they have catalytic properties for the Red Matter reaction. It is a particularly complex and barbaric use of science."

She dragged the brush through her hair as he reached over to the replicator.

"So you're saying - like when plants use sunlight to photosynthesise, your blood is the chlorophyll. Only instead of sugar - they're making red matter."

"This analogy, though crude, is adequate - would coffee suffice?"

"Yes - thank-you," the swift change in conversation was characteristic of him. She pulled the brush through her long hair again, "and some pancakes. I feel like I could eat a horse."

"A wholly illogical idiom," he muttered, fingers on the replicator's panel.

"I don't want us to go if it puts you in danger again," she leaned forward as he waited for the machinery to perform its task and pulled her arms around his waist, leaning her face on his strong back.

"I am no longer at risk. They have enough of my blood with which to carry out their reaction."

He was tense for a moment and then, as if he remembered whose arms were on him, he relaxed into her. She reached for his hands and held them. His lips grazed against her knuckles.

"Your breakfast is prepared, k'diwa," he lowered his voice. "Our assistance is required on the bridge."

She pulled away from him reluctantly and reached for her coffee and pancakes, both steaming hot. Suddenly her appetite threatened to fail. How many hours ago had they been man and wife, satiated and resting in a dark bed, overflowing with the knowledge of each other. Now, they were communications officer and science officer and first offer, overwrought with the pressure of the current situation.

They walked silently back to the bridge. He had one palm against her lower back, the heat of it radiated through her skin. It wasn't pushing, it was just there.

"Spock," she took a sip of her drink.

"Nyota," he had learned the customary reply to a name iterated as a sentence.

The doors to the bridge opened and revealed the entire rest of the crew, including a particularly tired-looking Chekov sleepily leaning over his console, his dirty gold hair tousled and his eyes puffy.

Nyota sat down on the chair which lurked by her communications panel. The distribution of keys were slightly different than the ones she was used to but she recognised the main communicative devices.

"Guys," she said firmly and took a sip from her mug.

All the men turned to face her, their expressions expectant, or amused, or unreadable.

"Lieutenant," Kirk finally looked up from his chess game, resting his chin endearingly on his fist.

"I'm not a 'sentimental' person. I know most of you don't like outbursts of affection," she took another sip of the steaming, delicious coffee, noticing Sulu's eyes soften slightly. He leaned towards her. "But I have to thank-you for rescuing Spock back there. It was very close. And I'm grateful, that's all."

Bones coughed uncomfortably, Chekov gave a sheepish grin, Sulu turned back to his console, seemingly disappointed. Scotty waved his hand as if to say it had been nothing while Kirk just said, "you're welcome." He said it with all the lofty attitude he could muster.

"Shall we resume our game, Captain?" Spock interrupted the quiet moment between the crew as he sat down to take his seat.

"Commander."

The two men continued. It was more a war of wills than a battle of any more than that. Nyota watched them carefully, her earpiece in one ear, listening to the static of subspace radio. Everyone else was watching them too, in between doing other things, checking readings, looking up results, attempting to hail Federation Headquarters without any luck.

It was minutes before Spock made his move. She was mesmerised by his fingers as they reached out and deftly pulled his King to a new position on the board. Three-dimensional chess had never been one of Nyota's strong-points. But she could see the beauty in such a game. It was based solely on reasoning and pre-emption. A player must read their opponent's next move with almost flawless and uncanny precision.

She knew very well that Spock had been Grandmaster at the Academy and he had defended his title on more than one occasion. His eyes were most human at this moment, she traced her eyes down the flick of his dark eyebrows and to the point of his delicate ears. Every part of him felt like an extension of herself.

Kirk, on the other hand was obtuse and blunt. He developed his own strategies and formulated a thousand scrawny messy decisions inside his brilliant and maniacal brain. Plenty of logic was in there but no order, none at all. He didn't need it. Nyota wasn't quite sure how she found herself sitting by the board, all she knew was that Scotty had perched beside her and placed his bet on Kirk.

She wasn't going to bet because the outcome was clearly shifting. Chekov leaned over Sulu's shoulder and Bones' eyes were fluttering to a place near sleep.

Another pawn lost.

Another 'Check'. This time it was Kirk.

Spock's concentration was intense, Kirk's reciprocated absorption reminded Nyota of the look the players often had when they were training for advanced hand-to-hand combat. No one was moving, there was an atmosphere of clashing swords on the bridge. They may have only been symbolic but the testosterone was undeniable.

And then she realised with an amazing clarity. That it wasn't at all about the victor, but solely about the melee, the conflict. They were de-stressing just as simply as those ancient human beings would fight wars. At least they were _doing _something, making the use of their energy, staking their claims, being dynamic.

"Check mate."

Kirk was just as stunned as everyone else that Spock had won the game. He leaned far forward and examined all three levels of the chess board and then, finally acquiesced with a small, buoyant sigh.

"Best of three?" he asked.

"Indubitably," Spock replied, a slight gleam of triumph in his dark eyes.

"How long till we reach our destination?" Kirk queried of Sulu, who was becoming more and more distracted by the minute.

"Four hours, sir."

"Damn, impulse engines! Bones!" Kirk shouted.

Bones who had drifted into the void of sleep jerked awake.

"Jim."

"Captain."

"Captain."

"You're relieved. Go to bed. You look awful."

"I'm going to go check on the warp drive," Scotty chirped cheerily, he patted Kirk on the shoulder. "Better luck next time."

"Keptin," Chekov questioned, "vy aren't ve at varp?"

"Because," Scotty was half-way through the door. "There's a big black hole waiting for us at the other end of the rainbow and we don't want to get any closer to it than we have to."

Bones grumped his way towards the door, half-asleep and very tired. The crew had clearly been pulling double-shifts so that Spock could recover and Nyota could rest. They had all been wounded and traumatised but they were soldiering on as was in their nature.

"So we get to Vulcan," Nyota said, "and then what?"

"We intercept the signal." Kirk's blue eyes challenged hers.

"And then what?"

Silence.

"Lieutenant Uhura," Spock interjected. "I am of the belief that the interception of this signal should alert its initiators of our presence. The response to our presence will indicate which course of action we will take."

"What if their _course of action_ is to shred us to ribbons?" her eyes remained fixed on Kirk. "I say we go back home. Explain to the Command."

"That's just it, Uhura," Kirk said coolly. "There isn't a Command. It's just us and this boat. We return, we have the Irises to contend with, not to mention a dozen court-martials, we go forward - there's a chance we can find out who attacked Earth."

"Someone must let us dock. What about Alpha Centauri?"

"Contact them," Kirk's voice was hardened. "They don't want us."

"Perhaps your charm was not effective," she turned stubbornly towards her console, "if I speak to them in their language then maybe-"

Spock's hand on her own stopped her speech. She looked up and saw him standing over her. His eyes were pleading for her to desist.

"We have hailed as many planets as we could. This ship is contraband and it is a counterfeit model, a Starfleet ship that was not commissioned by the fleet. No planet will let us dock with them."

"If she wants to hail them," Sulu's voice broke the low murmurs, "let her hail them."

"And as helmsman," Spock retorted, "under whose authority do you act."

"None!" Sulu stood up, his eyes aflame with uncharacteristic anger. "But since you say there's no Starfleet, what does it matter anyway? You're not a First Officer - he's not the Captain. It's every man for himself!" he strode out of the bridge purposefully. Spock followed and Nyota felt the urge to do so also. But she stayed seated. Neither man would appreciate her presence. This was one battle she couldn't help with.

* * *

_To Be Continued..._

* * *

Albert Camus once said, 'Love demands the impossible, the absolute, the sky on fire, inexhaustible springtime, life after death, and death itself transfigured into eternal life.'

Spread a little love, leave a review.


	15. Mysteries

**Disclaimer**: I do not own anything pertaining to Star Trek - that joy goes to the dearly departed Gene Roddenberry and Paramount Pictures.

**Beta benedicta**: In the words of Spock, your logic is flawless, your beta'ing and conversation are both aesthetically pleasing. [Vulcan for, 'you rock'!]

_**Author's Note:**_ _Hey guys, I am so sorry for the long delay. But in the time that's passed I have written the final chapter of this story, it's an epilogue and it's called 'Sohek' and I just know you guys will love it. So thank-you for staying with me… Bacca, Miggs, FirstDraft, DiscoUnicorn, sadhappygirl, Silver-ShadowSpark, mhgood, Quicksilvermad, FireChildSlytherin5, xLilypadsx, Lynn, squishmich, Divided86, Hepburn, Miranda River._

* * *

_Deuteronomy _

_by Elizawriter_

* * *

Chapter 15 - Mysteries

The corridor was almost eerily quiet. It seemed to hold all the tension the world had to offer in very small, closed hands. The two men stared at each other for seconds, dark eyes glowing. The pressure building between them had little to do with the words which had just been said on the bridge.

Sulu had single-handedly ignited the only heated argument Spock and Nyota ever endured but Spock realised that this was not the time to bring it up. It was a personal a matter and he had to maintain a façade of professionalism. It was more important now than ever, since the crew had been abandoned by those who they had deemed their superiors.

"Lieutenant Sulu," he said carefully, "your insubordination on the bridge was inappropriate. You are a member of this crew and we are all still, despite our recent setbacks, members of Starfleet."

"Who the hell asked you?" came the fiery response.

"I do not understand your question-"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Same old crap! Blah-blah this and that." Sulu seemed to slowly be coming undone. "What does she see in you, anyway?"

Spock's stance grew more rigid. His eyes smouldered and a fissure of strain broke the crease of his brow. His façade dropped ever so slightly.

"Am I correct in assuming that you are referring to Lieutenant Uhura?" Spock's tone challenged Sulu to lie, to take it back. To step away from a futile confrontation.

"Yeah," he replied defiantly, his chin tilted indignantly, "I am."

Spock had sought to find a way to resolve this incident without referring to personal matters but now the Lieutenant had brought up the topic, he felt the need to state his position both firmly and succinctly. There was also a stirring of heat within his stomach, an emotion he understood to be anger. This man had no right, no claim to his bond-mate but still, Sulu was standing there, poised and collected as if he did. The very definition of an illogical human male.

Spock's crystal clear memory flashed to the moment he had walked into the Shipyard Bar; he had been anxious over her safety. There was so much activity as he stepped through the doorway, the heat of hundreds of hands and so much skin, the overwhelming series of smells and tastes in the air, the perspiration and liquor.

His mother had once used the colloquialism, 'heartbreak'. There was little equivalent in the Vulcan language. However, in the split-second his eyes settled on Nyota, pressed so closely to Sulu's body, her arms wrapped around his neck, Spock had felt his own heart pound faster in his side, and then it seemed to miss a beat completely. The gravity of what his eyes were seeing overwhelmed him. He could not form a logical explanation for it, only a myriad of powerful, caustic emotions.

Her eyes had been closed in the drunken pleasure of the moment and both of she and Sulu's faces shared a mirror of contentment. Spock swallowed the memory into, realising that his strong fingers had curled into a fist. He took a very deep breath and forced himself to unclench them.

"I will only say this once, Lieutenant Sulu, after which I will not further display my feelings on the matter."

"So you _have_ feelings?" Sulu scoffed. Spock's eyes remained an impassive mask but underneath the pressure of his fury was threatening to break through.

"Lieutenant Uhura is my wife. My responsibility, my bond-mate. I know your intentions, I have heard your heartbeat rise at close proximity to her, the fondness with which you call her name. She may not have realised your affections but I certainly have. And make no mistake, Lieutenant Sulu, despite the fact that we are thrust into this situation together and have critical need of one another's expertise in this circumstance, I would rather you be removed as far from my wife as physically possible. She is unavailable, betrothed, occupied. She is not your concern."

"So why did she call me instead of you?" Sulu spat, although he was afraid and knew Spock could beat him to within an inch of his life or subject him to a debilitating nerve-pinch.

Spock's eyes gave none of his thoughts away, his tone was even as he spoke.

"Every marriage must undergo a period of transition. It is a testament to that which is between us that although you made yourself available to her, Lieutenant Uhura did not desecrate the purity of our union."

"Yes she did," Sulu lied, a malevolent glint in his gaze, "she kissed me."

"Unfortunately for you, Lieutenant," Spock replied, a slow-burning growl in the midst of his words, "your attempt to deceive me is just as unsuccessful as your pursuit of my wife."

It was then that they realised there was another presence in the corridor with them. Uhura had stepped out of the doorway. She flicked her gaze from one man to the other and back again, as if unsure of what was going on between them. Her cheeks burned but she was glad her complexion hid the fact from both of them. They were talking about her, they must have been.

"I need to find something," she said in as much of a professional tone as she could muster, "it was a PADD I found at the hangar. I must have dropped it on the way in. Can one of you show me the way?"

"Lieutenant Sulu," Spock nodded curtly, his eyes settled on Nyota's for only a moment and then he turned towards the bridge.

When he left such tension hung in the air between Nyota and Sulu that she almost couldn't bear it.

"Hikaru?" she reached for his shoulder. He flinched, a thunderous expression on his face.

"It's down here," he gruffed, turning on his heel and leaving her to follow.

"What did he say to you?" There was no reply. "Hikaru we're not going to stop being friends over this, are we?" she urged as they turned a sharp corner, "That's just silly."

"The way I _feel_ is silly?" he muttered. "You - marrying that freak is what's ridiculous."

She was taken aback by his rudeness. He was always such a kind, sweet person. Her first instinct was to give him a piece of her mind. Although she knew she had to tread extremely carefully, his feelings were obviously very raw. The trauma of the past few days could not have helped him.

Her mouth opened to start and then something glinted in the furthest reaches of the corridor. It caught her eye and quickly she walked towards it.

"What are you doing?" he walked towards her. "I thought we were talking."

She bent to her knees in order to reach under an awkward fixing. The PADD was there, its glassy screen just beyond her reach. She stretched her fingers further.

"I could've died saving him," Sulu forced, "all of us could have. We risked our lives and he couldn't even say thank-you. You had to say it for him."

She reached out again, stretching her fingers to the glinting metallic thing under the fixing. Why had the vents on the ship been made so irritatingly small anyway?

"Are you even listening to me?" he snapped.

She had it, grasping the PADD between her fingers and slid it across the ground until it was free.

"Yes, Hikaru." She got to her feet and dusted down her uniform. "I am listening. You've insulted me and insulted my husband."

"I didn't insult you," he retorted, his expression even more offended.

"Look, no matter what you think of Spock, he would have done exactly the same thing for you. I don't ever want to hear you call him a freak again. It was _my_ mistake, calling you, getting drunk with you. That's _my fault._ If you want to be mad at someone, be mad at me."

They exchanged a hard, brittle stare during which Nyota eventually let out a sigh. He had been such a good friend to her. The emotions he had stirred within her, the way he always came to her aid when she needed him. They had been true friends, comrades. Dozens of random memories surfaced in quick succession, in which he laughed at her jokes while they ate together in the mess hall.

There was not supposed to be this divide between them. Part of her wanted to beg his forgiveness for not seeing how he felt, while the rest wanted to punch him. He was making all this so difficult but that wasn't his fault. No one could choose who they were attracted to. And if she wasn't with Spock, any outcome would have been possible. There may have been a chance for them once, but that chance was long gone.

"I can't be mad at you," Sulu breathed. "I hate him - he has what I want."

"Please don't talk like that," Nyota said seriously, "it just isn't possible."

Then she turned on her heel and began to walk back the way they had come. Her gaze settled in her palms where the PADD lay, damaged. She clutched it, hoping the coordinates were not lost.

"I'm just being honest with you," he blurted. "Why can't you be honest with me?"

"Because I'm off-limits. You can't think of me that way. And don't talk mutiny again. We all need each other. It's the most logical thing now. We have to work as a team."

She did not know it but her choice of words were distinctly similar to the ones Spock had used, minutes before. This blatant display of how close the two were, how indivisible, caused the bile to rise in Sulu's throat.

"Alright," he hissed, "you turn into an android like him, if that's what you want. I'll behave myself for now but when this is over, I don't want to be anywhere near you."

His words stung her, piercing her chest like pins and needles. She didn't let it show on her face though, while her eyes burned with unshed tears.

"If that's what you want," she said softly, without looking at him.

They returned to the bridge in an awkward silence. The crew seemed to be working seamlessly, mostly quiet, speaking only when only absolutely necessary. The situation was precarious, of this everyone was painfully aware.

"So you're still with us?" Kirk quipped, his clear blue eyes flicking over Sulu's angry saunter towards his helm.

"Aye, Captain," came the grunted response.

"Did you find what you were looking for, Lieutenant?" Spock asked her evenly, completely ignoring Sulu's presence on the bridge. Chekov, who was very perceptive, gave an awkward cough.

"Yes," she replied. "It's a PADD," she waved it in the air. "In the hangar I heard this noise, it wasn't like any I'd heard before - almost machine-like, voices, I think and they were speaking the same coordinates over and over. I think this is the lightning signal after some manipulation. It's stopped playing but if you can fix it, we may have more to go on."

"What's our E.T.A?" Kirk casually threw to Sulu.

"Four hours and fifteen minutes," came the sullen reply.

"Very well, Spock, you have four hours and fifteen minutes. Anything we can get on these bastards will be much appreciated."

"Captain," Spock replied in acknowledgement and then reached out.

Her eyes were warm and her smile was consoling. He could not deny that leaving her with Sulu for any period of time was extremely discomforting for him. There had been a moment when he had been quite sure he would throttle Sulu for even daring to touch his wife, to take advantage of her, but doing so would only lacerate the scar tissue in their relationship.

If Spock could not trust her then he should not have bonded with her. Knowing innately that he had made the right choice, taking Nyota as his mate, forced him to act appropriately.

He took the PADD from her outstretched hand and felt the soft skin of her thumb brush along his knuckle. The sensation sent a thrill through him and he assumed that it did the same for her. She bit her lip, hid a small smile and turned back to her station. He too went to his own work. The hours were wearing thin and there was yet another mystery to solve.

* * *

After hours and hours of fruitless research, Spock had researched all the public databases available to him. He had scoured through as many texts and search engines as he could and found no mention of the Irises Company or Cassius Rayne anywhere. The ship was still unrecognised by the United Federation of Planets.

The Deuteronomy was a sea-serpent space's invisible currents. Scotty was still in love with her and spent most of his time cataloguing her magnificent craftsmanship. She was an impostor, clearly capable of great damage but sleek and resilient too. Sulu's fascination with her logistical prowess and Chekov's amazement at her speed and stealth was a topic of repeated conversation.

Despite the tensions between Nyota, Spock and Sulu, the crew spoke to dull the monotony of incessant minutes and to overcome the anxiety of creeping ever closer to the black hole which used to be Vulcan.

For a moment, no one spoke at all. The bridge of the Deuteronomy was eerily quiet. Panels blinked, flashing, indicating their various programmed in the strange twilight of outer-space. Nyota rubbed her aching neck muscles and yawned. Although they needed it, not everyone else had slept, least of all Spock who sat straight against a console, his forehead furrowed in concentration. She had tried to tell him to stay take some rest, but he would not listen. It meant he was getting back to normal.

He lifted his stylus.

"What is it?" she asked, the PADD she had stolen from the Irises Company's hideout once again in her fingers.

"Repeat those numerals once again please."

"04.26, 33.24, 30.19, 32. 10."

"They are not co-ordinates," he turned to her finally. There was something triumphant in his black eyes. It was a look he gave when he had trumped her on a dialectical issue or an ambiguous set of semantics.

She didn't reply. She knew he could feel her apprehension rise ever so slightly.

"They are verses. From an ancient religious script from Earth. They seem to be instructions of a kind, a mandate to be followed."

"Go on then," Kirk's interest was piqued now.

"Deuteronomy 4.26 - I call heaven and earth to witness against you this day. Deuteronomy 33.24 - I will send wasting famine against them, consuming pestilence and deadly plague; I will send against them the fangs of wild beasts, the venom of vipers that glide in the dust. Deuteronomy 30.19 - I have set before you life and death, blessing and cursing: therefore choose life that both thou and thy seed may live. Deuteronomy 32.10 - For they are a very forward generation, children in whom is no faith."

"Is that the Bible?" Kirk scoffed, "You're kidding me, right?"

"How do you know it's the Bible?" Nyota added, "I mean, how do you even know it's Deuteronomy?"

"I make no attempt at jest, Captain. Lieutenant Uhura, Deuteronomy is the only logical conclusion since that is the name of this ship. It clearly holds high value to those who named it."

"We will soon be approaching the co-ordinates now, Captain," Lieutenant Sulu's face hardened. He had been hopelessly quiet for minutes now.

"Bring her down slowly," Kirk leaned forward, his chin resting on one curled fist. Nyota turned to where Spock was standing beside the Captain, his back tensed and his posture rigid. She closed her eyes and listened to the sub-space static through her earpiece.

"We will reach our destination in 10…" Sulu began the countdown.

"Ensign Chekov," Kirk forced.

"9…"

"Yes, sir," Chekov replied.

"How are our shields?"

"8…"

"Shields are at 100% Keptin, but…" he paused with a confused expression that did not suit a scientific protégé, "vey are showing oscillation."

"7…"

"Scotty to Kirk," Scotty's voice broke through the melee.

"Come in, Scotty," Kirk replied.

"6…" Sulu continued to countdown, the mantra to the inevitable.

"There's a field of ionic disturbance out there, screwing with the sensors." Scotty's voice was laced with panic, "Some kind of static resonance appeared out of nowhere."

"5…"

"I'm picking up a signal, Captain." Nyota listened carefully. "We're being hailed."

"4…"

"Classify the ship!" Kirk barked at Scotty.

"3…"

"I can't classify anything. My console's completely jammed." Scotty blurted.

"2…1…"

Silence followed as the ship pulled to a motionless halt. It floated in the vastness of space, dotted stars twinkling between the magnitude of the universe. Nyota listened carefully to the message.

"We're getting a distant visual, Captain," she informed, locking frantic eyes with Spock, something about his stare calmed her, forced her to be as rational as possible. "We're being hailed by an unidentified ship."

"Shields have dropped to 75%." Chekov's tone instantly became alarmed.

"The manoeuvrability of the ship is compromised, Captain." Spock said quietly.

"Give me a visual," Kirk ordered Uhura and she obeyed.

Suddenly and completely without warning a ship, mirroring the Enterprise in size, weight, classification and cargo appeared in the distance before them. It was like looking into a mirror and seeing yourself, only older, dirtier, stronger.

"Shields have dropped to 50%!" Chekov picked up the unnerving mantra where Sulu had left off.

"Scotty!" Kirk barked.

"Yes Cap'n! Got the system back! We're online, sir. What can I do for yer?"

"Can you explain to me why the ship I'm seeing is the spitting image of the Enterprise and where in hell did it come from?"

"Captain," Uhura said firmly, "they're still hailing us. They want to speak to you. They are fluent Vulcan speakers, no Federation Standard - the line's garbled."

"Then let's see these bastards," Kirk turned to face the screen as Uhura connected them to the other ship's hailing frequency.

"What the…" Sulu's mouth dropped open.

Chekov nearly fell out of his chair.

Nyota dropped her stylus and Spock simply stared vacantly at the screen.

"Captain Sirek of the Enterprise," greeted the half-Vulcan, half-human seated in the captain's chair. He was the spitting image of Spock, same strong, dark eyes, same upswept eyebrows, identical sharp point of the ear. All that was different was a dusting of brittle hair which formed a goatee around his thin mouth and then, the strangest of all things, a wide and most disconcerting, expressive smile.

Nyota pressed the button to record the transmission and stood up because she simply had to be closer to Spock. The anxiety in her stomach wound itself into a knot and she reached for his hand. Thankfully, he allowed her fingers to clutch his own, although he did not squeeze hers back.

In the screen, like a phantom gateway, the window into a nightmare, standing beside this perfect replica of her husband was an older version of herself. She had a refined look and her hair was in a dark bob. She had also gained weight, making her petite form rotund and soft. However, the uniforms still matched exactly. She reached up to touch her own face in shock.

"Captain Kirk of the Deuteronomy," Kirk's voice was astonishingly firm despite the situation.

"I would like to introduce my crew," Sirek muttered in Vulcan. "Ensign Gray."

A mixed-race adolescent with honey eyes and short curls stepped into view. His ears were pointed and he had Vulcan eyes, but everything else about him was distinctly human. Nyota held her breath in the shock. It was the baby they had lost come to haunt them about seventeen years older.

"Ensign T'Lew."

This one was a teenage girl, the spitting image of Nyota, her long jet-black hair reached her waist. She was thin but alert, very tall, Vulcan ears, human eyes.

"First Officer Nevi," Sirek continued. The next man to appear was an image of Kirk but older, much, much older. He had grey hair and was getting slightly podgy, his face was round where it should have been oval.

"What do you want from us?" Spock said firmly, although his eyes belied his shocked state. "Am I correct in deducing you do not follow Surak's teachings?"

"I see you that deduce many things," Sirek smiled, broadly and wide. Nyota saw the fear in the eyes of everyone who stood around him. They were terrified of him. All her emotions flooded towards that young boy and girl. "We will join you shortly."

The transmission ended as quickly as it had begun. No one spoke, they were stunned. They had fallen into a trap.

* * *

_To Be Continued..._

* * *

Albert Camus once said, 'Love demands the impossible, the absolute, the sky on fire, inexhaustible springtime, life after death, and death itself transfigured into eternal life.'

Spread a little love, leave a review.


	16. The Lyre

**_Disclaimer:_**_ I do not own anything pertaining to Star Trek - that joy goes to the dearly departed Gene Roddenberry and Paramount Pictures._

_**Beta Bit:** Miranda River, thank-you for putting up with my clichés and my sporadic nature. You mean a lot more to me than just a beta, you're an inestimable friend. X_

_**Author's Note: **Hey guys, once again I'm so sorry for the long delay. I should be more regular from now on... thank-you for staying with me…elaine451, mhgood, xLilypadsx, DawnCandace, Birdgirl90, FireChildSlytherin5, Bacca, Quicksilvermad, Miggs, DiscoUnicorn, Beatlemaniac1, Silver Scribes, Princess Myra, WonWoman Diana, .Rocks, Verity Strange, squishmich, ChrissyCC23, lulugc._

* * *

_Deuteronomy_

_by Elizawriter_

* * *

Chapter 16 - The Lyre

The Deuteronomy was gripped in a vice, as dangerous as the black hole where Vulcan used to be. There was a period of bleak silence, and then Kirk turned to face Spock, whose mouth was drawn into a very thin line.

"What the hell was that?!" Kirk ordered, his pale blue eyes scouring the room.

"I am unsure," was Spock's response. "However, it would be logical to assume we have encountered inhabitants native to an alternative existential plane."

Nyota held her husband's hand tightly as dread and fear surged through her. She could not put all the fragments of what she had just seen together. Did this mean she was pregnant again, so soon after her miscarriage? These beautiful teenagers undoubtedly shared a portion of her genetic make-up, T'Lew and Gray were so young and alone; she felt a raging concern for them.

The other, older version of herself clearly lacked the strength to protect these innocents; she seemed content with whatever life had thrown at her, without expectation or ambition. She had stood silent beside Sirek, a man unbound by logic and done absolutely nothing.

"What did they mean when they said they'd be here shortly?"

"No one can beam aboard," Sulu offered, "not if..." his words were stolen from him and suddenly panic began to sing through the bridge like a bird of prey.

First it was Chekov who became affected by an invisible attack from the foreign vessel. He forced a wiry scream, clutching his temples, swearing in his native language; then Bones cradled his forehead, falling to his knees, muttering a steady stream of curses. Then Nyota heard it - a piercing ringing with a frequency so distorted and penetrating that she thought her head might split open.

Her nose began to bleed as she fell forward into Spock's outstretched arms. She lifted shaking fingers to staunch the flow but the pressure of that discordant sound was too great. In the chaos Sulu had fallen onto his console, Kirk had tumbled unceremoniously out of his seat and Spock, least affected than the rest, attempted to placate her but he too, was succumbing to the excruciation of the relentless resonance which was being fired at the ship. They could not fight back, this pressure was too much for all their bodies to cope with. And one by one, inside each harrowed mind, complete with internal bellows and shrieks, silence began to rule as the entire crew lost consciousness.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

It was the same crystal sound water made as it seeped from a leaking faucet. That sparkling personified woke Nyota from her slumber. She came rushing into consciousness urgently and noted that the surface beneath her crooked body was both damp and cool. Her throat was parched, brittle almost. She did not trust her vocal cords to produce coherent words.

She reached out, her eyes burning and the glue of perspiration forcing her clothes to cling. There was silence, and then there were arms, holding her up, pulling her in the near-complete darkness. The hands were small but very strong; their owner had a spicy, faint perfume.

"You must drink," a deep voice coaxed in fluent Vulcan. Nyota felt the rim of a tumbler being lifted to her lips.

"Who are you?" she whispered in the same tongue, her eyes still trying in vain to adjust to the lack of light. Her head continued to pound at regular intervals.

"T'Lew Ioa, daughter of Sirek and Nia Rinemo."

Nyota allowed T'Lew to continue. The teenager's arms were firm as she gulped as much of the clear, tasteless liquid as she could. She did not have the time to worry if it were poison, thirst this powerful refused to be denied. When she had had her fill, she carefully pushed T'Lew away, her eyes still unable to make out anything other than silhouettes in the dullness.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

The leak continued to beat out the seconds.

"Where is Spock?" she asked softly, "Where is my husband? Where are my friends?"

"I do not know," T'Lew answered. "My father - my father…"

"Yes. What about him? What has he done to them?"

"He is much loved by his people," T'Lew's velvet tone was subdued.

"And by you?" Nyota couldn't help but ask, rubbing her temples and attempting to create a reasonable mental picture of her surroundings. She did not know whether T'Lew was trustworthy, Sirek after all, was her father. He seemed to lack any kind of self-restraint.

"A child should love the parent."

"That's not what I asked you," Nyota challenged. "Do you love your father?"

"Why is that information valuable to you?" T'Lew asked softly.

"Because I care about what happens to you. If you aren't happy then I want to help."

"What makes you think I need your help? I am clothed and fed, I have a valuable station aboard this ship and my parents are living. Surely, my loyalty lies with my father," she sounded as though she were trying to convince herself against mutiny rather than making a valid argument.

Nyota could feel the intense confliction within T'Lew. It was inevitable that the teenager would be confused. Her father had been the status quo, an accepted factor of life as she lived it.

"Let me tell you something," Nyota voice was warm and soothing, "a few months ago when I miscarried my son," she winced at the vivid memory, "he was already so loved that Spock, my husband, and I still mourn him. We had not yet given him a name, we had not yet seen his smile or heard his voice. We already loved him so very much. You deserve nothing less than the unconditional love my son would have had."

T'Lew shifted her weight, causing slight scraping sounds along the damp ground. She rustled two surfaces together and then there was a small burst of light, a shine which illuminated her hands and her face.

It was such a beautiful, intricate face.

Nyota held her breath as she gazed upon it in the low light. Her heart swelled with love and admiration for this hazel-skinned girl with ruler-straight jet-black hair and deep, soulful brown eyes. Her eyebrows were passed down through Vulcan heritage and across her cheek, from cheekbone to lower lip was an angry protrusion, purple and yellow, growing more irate with the passing seconds.

"Who did this to you?"

"My father," T'Lew replied coolly. "It is merely a superficial injury. The swelling will relent."

"No one," Nyota wanted to reach out to her daughter from another timeline and shake some sense into her. "No one has the right to ever lay a finger on you!"

"He is my father. He disciplines all of us, regularly. I spoke out of turn. This - " she pointed to the dank cell, "is my punishment. I regret angering him. But he will play his lyre and his fury will subside. Would you not have punished your son had he lived?"

"Never in a way to cause him physical or emotional harm."

Something about T'Lew's clipped vocalisations reminded Nyota of Spock. It was the carefully locked passion hidden by well-chosen words. And it sparked fondness in Nyota, which was undeniable and irrational.

"Sirek plays the Vulcan lyre?" Nyota knew of Spock's great talent where the instrument was concerned but she doubted Sirek had the capacity or discipline to master the art.

"Yes. He plays most proficiently. My brother and I were never able to acquire this skill and it upset him greatly in our youth. Those inadequacies called for more physical punishments."

"T'Lew, where was your mother when all this was happening? Why doesn't she protect you from him?"

"She used to try," came the low confession, "my brother and I persuaded her not to. You must understand - Sirek is not her husband. We were conceived under duress and it is for our sakes, that she remains. We are not illiterate - we know his plans are… unthinkable."

Gall rose in Nyota's throat as she analysed the terrible situation the other version of herself had been forced into. It was so desperate: trapped with a tyrant, an abusive Vulcan at that, one who most likely abused her both mentally and physically. Nyota had only seen a starship as a harbinger of freedom, of exploration. To Nia, T'Lew's mother, the ship must seem like an inescapable prison, surrounded by millions of miles of infinite, deadly void.

"I don't know why I'm telling you all this," T'Lew whispered as the last flickers of light faded and they were plunged back into the gloom. "I feel like - I'm meeting mother for the first time. I have never seen her so young, beautiful."

"Tell me anything," Nyota felt a surge of protectiveness for this young lady. "I am on your side. I will do everything in my power to see you safe, T'Lew. And your brother. It is not your fault that Sirek is your father. Now tell me from the start, what exactly does he want, and what is he planning to do now?"

The sinuous song of the Vulcan lyre spread through the captain's decadent quarters. Spock was in a state of confusion. It was not a state he had much dealing with in his life and so it came to him as quite a shock. The musical notes were his, he had designed and created them, but the expression with which they were being played, that was completely alien from him.

He forced himself out of his meditative state and put all of his mental reliance on the assumption his brain would not inflict another bout of highly agonizing neural flashes. Tentatively, he opened his eyes. To one side of the large room was a turned form, bent over a console, to the other was Sirek, of almost exact build and posture to Spock, but without a degree of concern over his movements.

To watch a replica of himself, lyre poised over one shoulder, fingers moving with equal amounts of precision and abandon, was mesmerising and disturbing. Sirek was clearly half-human in genetic make-up, but he was completely emotional, an illogical human temperament coupled with the volatile reactions common of Vulcans.

"Sirek," Spock said squarely.

The reaction was unexpected.

Spock's alternate version simply stood, lyre-in-hand, smiled disarmingly, and still playing, sauntered from the plush room. It was then that Spock's attention turned to the form bent over the console. He ascertained it was masculine from the thickness of the neck and broadness of the shoulders. Spock still could not stand to reach out and aid the male, who seemed to be in the throes of a very painful episode.

"Young man," Spock tried, "I require your name."

The form turned. And Spock had never experienced a surge of emotion like the one which overwhelmed him at that moment. This teenager bore the elements of Nyota, remnants of her rich, brown skin, her soft mouth, and parts of Amanda too. Spock's mother's eyes stared back at him, while his father's facial shape and pointed ears were there too.

Then, less savoury elements came into focus. The young man, clearly as much genetically Spock's offspring as he was Sirek's, was clutching his abdomen tenderly. A dry streak of rich brown blood ran along his nostrils and both eye-sockets showed trauma of being struck repeatedly.

"How did you acquire those injuries?" Spock asked once again in Federation Standard.

"I do not understand your speech," the young man gave him a quizzical stare before cocking his astute head to one side.

"I presume your native language is Vulcan?" Spock asked in the same tongue.

"Yes."

"Where are my comrades? Where is the Lieutenant Uhura?"

"I do not know," replied the distressed young man, wincing as he fell into his chair. "My father has kept them below and my sister... I do not know what he has done with her this time."

"What is your name?" Spock asked carefully.

"Gray Sohek."

"I am Spock," Spock introduced, and was greeted with a small but noticeable nod.

"You look like my father," Gray whispered, "but I feel there is little you and he share."

"I presume you are correct in this instance," Spock said softly. "Perhaps there is less you and he share."

"How can that be when I am his son?" Gray asked.

"What is your age, Gray Sohek?"

"Seventeen Earth years," he stood a little straighter as he declared himself almost a fully-grown man.

"Do you know yet, what you wish to remembered for after your death?" Spock's dark eyes stared relentlessly at Gray's and love emanated from his gaze. He could not staunch the flow of illogical affection. This was the son he could have had. There was a long pause, the young man lifted his eyes from the floor, still holding his pained side.

"He is my father. I owe him my life. Mutinous talk will not be accepted aboard his vessel," Gray's demeanour changed. It became hard, cold and emotionless, but his eyes bore the internal conflict he was facing. He reached for his communicator. "Gray to Sirek."

"Sirek to Gray," came the agitated response, "you know better than to disturb me."

"It is an urgent matter, sir."

"It must be. I will return. Sirek out."

In the silence that followed Gray refused to meet Spock's eyes until, eventually, the latter spoke.

"Your father has caused your sister harm, has he not?" he said.

Gray's icy veneer cracked. "She - she is stubborn; she argued with his judgment."

"Are you aware that he may have already killed her-"

"No!" was the forceful reply. "I would have felt that. She is alive!"

"We are not well-acquainted," Spock explained, knowing time was not on his side, "but if you help me find my wife, I will help you find your sister. My word is not easily broken and falsehoods are not in my nature."

The heralding dolorousness of the lyre grew to a noticeable crescendo, and Gray jerked quickly towards his console, carrying himself as bravely as he could.

Spock watched the waiting door with bated breath, thinking of Nyota, relying on the fact that he would have been able to sense her death through their bond, desperate to hope that she was still alive and unharmed. His concern for Gray was just as powerful as his concern for his bond-mate. The boy had been subjected to a lifetime of undeserved abuse aboard this ship.

Sirek stepped in, his face resplendent in the bright lights of the quarters. He played one last chord as his face lit with raw, uncontrolled pleasure. Then his fingers stopped. And his lyre was silent.

* * *

_Elizawriter is back for good._

_Leave a review, you know you want to x_


	17. Insurgence

___**Disclaimer**__: I do not own anything pertaining to Star Trek - that joy goes to the dearly departed Gene Roddenberry and Paramount Pictures._

___**Beta Bit**__: My beta Miranda River is not only a budding editor of unbelievable proportions but also one of my best friends. Because of her I aim to finish this epic tale as well as Deuteronomy part II, which is now in the works 'Sohek Shi'kahr'._

___**Author's Note**__: Hey guys, once again I'm so sorry for the long delay. I should be more regular from now on... thank-you for staying with me… We only have five chapters to go before the story is over so that should give you an idea of how things are going to go from here._

* * *

_Deuteronomy_

_By Elizawriter_

* * *

Chapter 17 – Insurgence

"Ensign," Sirek's voice was deceptive. It lied that there was a rational, logical sense behind its tenor. Spock saw through the ruse instantly. He watched as Sirek's lyre was deftly placed on the counter, as if it were precious.

"Sir," Gray's response was feeble.

"For what reason do you disturb my restitution?" While he spoke Sirek drew closer to Spock, as if completely enamoured by a new toy. He brought a mirrored face, speckled with dark stubble so close to Spock's own that he created an urge in Spock to flinch. The tone of his voice was the acidic hiss of a snake.

"I," Gray started softly, all of his former strength and pride had vanished. Spock heard the rate of Gray's heartbeat rise and flicked his gaze away from Sirek's eyes for a single moment. Gray was terrified, his scent changed minimally and his breaths were uneven and short.

At the same time Sirek realised all the same things - his eyes flared with unrestrained anger – he jerked away from Spock and set upon his son with the vicious precision of a lion. The loud snapping sound jarred against all that was natural. First he placed a kick to Gray's ankle that undoubtedly broke bones and cartilage causing the seventeen year-old to scream in shock, a shriek mingled with a howl, the sound of a wounded animal. He was powerless, the genetics of being seventy-five percent human were to blame.

Spock felt rage burn inside his chest. This illogical beast was attacking what would, could have been his son, Spock's son, without provocation and without abandon. Another blow struck Gray's face, causing spatters of rich brown blood to cascade across the ground. At this moment, something within Spock changed. With his conscious mind he understood that Gray was Sirek's offspring, a child from a completely alien and foreign reality. But that information had no affect. Spock felt a bond with this teenager which refused to be denied.

The feelings that Sirek's attack had stirred within him were wild, primal. They were instinct. Although logic told Spock that Gray was not his, all the emotion he could muster bellowed otherwise and its counter-argument was irrefutable. His logical, calculating mind found it confusing to see beyond Amanda's eyes, Nyota's mouth and rich skin tone. The grief of losing his own child threatened to rise to the surface, seeing Gray, almost a ghostly figure, a chance for redemption. If Spock had been faster, if he had stayed in Nyota's hospital room he could have stopped Doctor McCoy from administering the lethal drug which aborted his child. Now, once again he was faced with a very real choice – he would not make the same mistake twice.

Spock surveyed the density of his restraints. They were impenetrable. Gray's soft brown eyes caught his own for a second, and they were Amanda's, gazing at him through a rift in existence, the expression identical to her last. She had worn it as her body fell into a bleak chasm, pleading for assistance, for escape.

"You are a coward, Sirek," the words left Spock before he could tame them. There was initially no response. "You are a coward!" Spock shouted louder. This caught Sirek's attention. He stopped his attack briskly and turned, furious, to face Spock.

Gray was shaking his head rapidly, indicating that Spock desist, that the danger was too great, but Spock was well aware of the precarious nature of this situation. He knew that, just as he would for Nyota, he would take any harm onto himself rather than allow Gray to be harmed. Genetically, Gray was still part of him. And he had been fighting for so long; abused and belittled. Spock could empathise with bullying but to be bullied by a parent, it was unthinkable.

"There is something you wish to say to me," Sirek's eyes flamed. He reached forward with a deadly precision and gripped the sensitive place between Spock's legs. The pain was more than excruciating, it rendered Spock speechless. He froze, making his every muscle as still as possible in order to distract himself from the agony.

"My seed brought that boy into existence," Sirek growled. "Mine! Like this ship, he is mine! And you are simply the puppet spawn of a diseased reality!"

Spock's mouth opened to formulate a reply but he was rendered to gasps and coughs; there were black spaces behind his eyes, he felt his senses shut down. Then Gray caught his attention. The young man had dragged himself to the waiting door, a determined and defiant expression on his blanched face. He was reaching for the panel which would free him from the quarters and the courageous, curl of his lip reminded Spock of his bond-mate.

The door opened and Gray crashed through it. Sirek immediately released his tenuous hold on Spock and turned to face the doorway. Gray had already armed the lock, and his eyes stared penetratingly at Spock while the door slid to a close.

Sirek growled, deep in his throat, his fury erratic beyond even his own control. He launched himself at the shield of metal viciously, managing to cause his robust Vulcan anatomy no strain.

"Grayshire Sohek Shi'kahr!" he screamed, "Release this lock!" He grimaced as if he found his own ire physically damaging. Feeling rushed back into Spock's lower body, followed by a powerful surge of nausea that caused bile to rise into his closed mouth.

"Father," Gray called through the door, "tell me where T'Lew is and I will release you."

"T'Lew – your hellspawn whore of a sister! That insolent mongrel. If you do no release this lock now I will murder both of you when I am freed!"

"Spock?" shouted Gray, changing his approach, his voice was trembling with fear, "Spock?"

"I am conscious," Spock choked in response. "Find Captain James Tiberi-!"

Sirek's firm hand gripping Spock's throat cut off the air supply to his words. To see this form choking him forced Spock to see all the negative emotions he had kept so well-contained over the years, this is what they would look like if they were boiled and churned out of control. This was the evil Spock was capable of: abusing, maltreating and attacking those he should adore, beyond logic, beyond rationality. It was his worst case scenario, a place which he never wished to go.

Being half-human gave Spock the capacity to love more, but also to hate more, to be the epitome of both his races.

"Who, Spock? Who?!" Gray's panicked voice echoed through the door.

"Open this door!" Sirek seethed, "Or I will snap this neck. He will die because of your weakness and insubordination, you are nothing. Your mother was a filthy human I lifted from the dregs of society and you are lesser-"

The door opened, revealing Gray bent against the further wall, a phaser clutched in his hand. Sirek did not relinquish his hold on Spock's throat. Instead, he laughed. It echoed and bounced off the walls, the sound was joyous and vibrant, but most of all, it was cruel. He laughed at his son as if Gray was worthless, as if the very notion of Gray coming to anyone's aid was so preposterous it could only be seen as farce. This was more damaging to Gray than the physical abuse, this was raw, molten humiliation and it poured down like rain.

The glare from the first phaser fire gleaned the hand from Spock's neck, allowing him to gasp in the air he had been denied. The second firing was surplus to requirement, then came the third and the fourth. Tears dripped from Gray's fair eyes, he could not stop. He wanted to destroy the monster finally, wanted to make sure it would never return.

"Gray," Spock said softly. "Gray Sohek; you have been most courageous but your phaser is set to maximum stun and if you shoot Sirek once more, he will have an extremely low chance of survival."

"I don't care," Gray spat through his tears, arms icily poised to deliver the last shot.

"You are not your father; you are not a murderer."

"How do you know?! You don't even know me!" Amanda's eyes stared through Gray's gaze with such intensity that Spock felt the ground tremble beneath him.

"I know – you," he said simply, "and you have always been both loved and wanted. I would lay down my life for your safety and happiness, Gray. You are the son I lost."

Gray shivered with the extreme psychological pressure and then collapsed to the ground, discarding his phaser, sobbing into his hands.

Spock watched and waited. The logical course of action would be to ask Gray to loosen his restraints. Nyota was still somewhere on this ship, most likely alone and in poor conditions. Gray sobbed in loud, angry moans, the tears grew, they refused to subside and he became even more distraught as the seconds passed.

Spock averted his gaze momentarily to Sirek's fallen form, every so often the body would twitch or jerk but it did not rise from its slumber, placidity glued to its face.

"Gray, we must find your sister and my wife, the rest of my crew are still prisoners on this ship."

The sobbing continued, the only coherent word was 'Sonek'. It was repeated over and again.

"May I inquire as to what – or who – is Sonek?"

"My- my – brother," Gray sobbed.

"And it is your knowledge of him that brings you to this extreme of negative emotion?"

"He – he – I've never seen him. We've heard him – father kept him below – I don't know – I – I," and Gray fell back into a stupor of his own distress.

"What age is Sonek?"

"Very young – maybe – I don't – we don't speak of him. Father..."

"I understand your predicament," Spock pulled his resolve together and took a deep breath. His entire body ached but he buried those sensations and said, "I request that you loosen my restraints and take me to where you suspect your brother has been kept."

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_P.S. Check out 'Nar', 'Reflections' & 'Ghosts' - fantastically written pieces._

_Leave a review, you know you want to x_


	18. L'enfant Sauvage

_**Disclaimer**: I do not own anything pertaining to Star Trek - that joy goes to the dearly departed Gene Roddenberry and Paramount Pictures._

_**Beta Bit**: Miranda River – I'm running out of words. Can you believe that? Me, running out of words? Stay just as awesome._

_**Author's Note**: As penance for being so terrible in updating the last few chapters I am attempting to get the rest of Deuteronomy done this month. Many mysteries to be solved._

_**Honor Roll: **johnnymommy19, danalexkayarimad, FireChildSlytherin5, DiscoUnicorn, Birdgirl90, elaine451, SEEKER-2000, Gwen Kathleen, squishmich, sadhappygirl, yamihoole, Sutzina Zion, ChrissyCC23, Miggs. Some of the greatest reviewers in the history of fanfic. :)_

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_Deuteronomy_

_By Elizawriter_

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Chapter 18 – L'Enfant Sauvage

"Uhura," a familiar voice rang through the darkness. "Uhura!"

"Huh?" she mumbled, hazily drawing herself up from the entanglement she and T'Lew had formed. The damp ground was much more comfortable if they used each other for pillows.

"It's me..." said a hushed and unexpected whisper.

"Hikaru?" she jolted up from her reverie, "What are you doing here? Where's Spock? Is he okay?"

"He's more than okay – he just rescued most of our crew." There was a sharpness to Sulu's tone, a grudging acceptance of Spock's role in his release, soured by affection for Nyota.

"Where is he, then?" she asked, suddenly frantic to see him, to check with her own hands and eyes that he was safe and sound.

"Below this deck, breaking into a complex safety-lock device... Look, I need to get you out of here, who's in with you?"

"Sirek's daughter," Nyota rubbed the sleep from her tired eyes, "T'Lew."

"Fine. We'll just keep her locked in."

"No – ," Nyota was still holding a sleeping T'Lew in her arms, one small hand pressed against the side of her face. T'Lew was hardly telepathic because of her mostly human genetic make-up and Nyota had seen little or nothing of her dreams. "She comes with me."

"Captain's orders," Sulu's voice sounded strained, "we must keep alternate reality crew members contained and under close supervision."

"I don't care," Nyota whispered into the darkness firmly. "Either she goes with me or we both stay here."

"Alright – alright," Sulu sounded annoyed but somehow proud, "but if she mutinies it's your fault."

A loud gasp sounded and suddenly the place was filled with the glow of torchlight. The gateway which had held them prisoner swung open with a defined clanging sound.

"What is it?" T'Lew mumbled hazily in Vulcan. Nestled between Nyota's waiting arms she seemed more like a child, her long tresses were mussed and her features were scrunched in sleep. Her eyes were ringed with tiredness, dark circles had grown around them, a testament to how hard the weeks leading up to this moment had been.

"We've been rescued," Nyota said gently, pushing the stray hairs away from T'Lew's face, revealing soft brown eyes which were identical to Spock's.

"And my father?" T'Lew's tone suddenly hardened. Hikaru, who was not fluent in Vulcan simply watched as the language floated between the two women. The similarities in their voices and mannerisms were transparent. This was, for all literal purposes, Nyota's daughter.

"She wants to know of Sirek's state?" Nyota translated quietly.

Hikaru shook his head. "He's in a coma. They left him in his quarters. McCoy says he won't last long."

Nyota did not feel any sadness at this news. The Federation would probably sleep more soundly now that Sirek's life was all but over. He took with him much of his malevolence and detest for life - he took his dark plans and the dark shadows he had cast over so many lives. But when she looked into T'Lew's eyes, she saw something which caused her to stay her words: hope. A tiny glimmer, a sparkle of longing, that her father was alive.

He was her assailant and her torturer, he was her sorrow and her abuser, but he was still her father. The bond which tied them together meant that some part of her must long for him, crave his affection and approval. No matter the number of times he had thrown her aside, despite herself, his daughter would vie for his attention once more. She could not bring herself to hate him purely, even though she knew he was a monster.

Perhaps, Nyota thought, there had been moments in her life when Sirek had shown T'Lew some level of adoration, acceptance. Just enough to bind her psyche to him, just enough to keep her lingering with false wishes, that perhaps he could become the father she needed. She did not have her brother's strong will, feel his utter detest.

"Your father has been injured," she chose her words very carefully, "but he is alive."

The reaction was a mixture of relief and disgust. "And my brother?" T'Lew continued, "Gray – is he safe? My mother – my mother is safe, isn't she?"

Nyota once again translated for T'Lew.

"Nia's dead," Hikaru said gently, "she poisoned herself. She was so closely bonded to Sirek that she could not bear to be without him."

"And her son, Gray?"

"He's with Spock."

Nyota could not bring herself to tell the truth. She could not stand there, at the point of so much distress and push T'Lew into the ravine of grief which waited. She hesitated, looking solemnly into T'Lew's warm eyes. Was it wrong to want to delay the inevitable?

"Nyota," T'Lew broke the long silence, "what did the Terran say?"

"Sorry, I am just tired. There is no need to be worried. Everyone is on the ship," she half-lied. "Your brother, Gray is with my husband, Spock. He is safe. This is my colleague Hikaru, you can trust him. He has come to rescue us. You must stay close to me now, only I can vouch for you."

"I understand," the teenager replied with a curt nod and rose to her feet, stretching her elongated frame in a way that took Sulu's breath away. She was indeed the sum of her parents, strikingly attractive and demure. Even after spending hours in a cell.

"Follow me," Sulu turned, pointing his torch out in front of himself to lead the way.

"Where are we going?" Nyota linked arms with T'Lew.

"I've seen some things on this ship," he started, "but nothing like what's going on upstairs."

"That cell was too cramped for cryptic. Even for a linguist. Speak plain!"

"There are a lot of dead kids on this boat - experiments. It seems that Sirek, much like our own Spock was quite the scientific researcher."

Nyota swallowed her horrified expression and took a deep breath.

"What else?"

"Raynes and Sirek are in this together. Always have been. Scotty and I have had a look at some of their Red Matter calculations - we can't touch them. It's all extremely volatile chain reactions, and there's still nothing from the Federation."

Sulu and Nyota continued to talk in low voices as they emerged from the dark underbelly of the ship into a place which seemed much brighter. Although the fluorescents illuminated the corridors, they were still eerily empty. Most of the ship's crew had been quarantined in their quarters until the threat that this alternate version of the Enterprise posed could be analysed and determined in full.

It wasn't long until Nyota realised they were heading towards what would have been sickbay. Although the screens and panels were lined with Vulcan language and the architecture was more strict and sparse, the craft still bore a lot of resemblance to the one she had once worked and lived on.

Sulu eventually stopped outside one of the panelled doors and knocked three times in rapid succession. Of course this was a code to let those on the other side know that they were being greeted by friends.

"Is my brother in there?" T'Lew asked carefully. Her dark eyes searched Nyota's and she kept glancing towards Sulu with unmistakable suspicion.

"Is her brother, Gray in sickbay?" Nyota repeated the question in Standard.

"Yes," Sulu said simply. "Look, I had to find you – Kirk's on the bridge. McCoy will see to you both. I need to get back to the helm."

He spoke with conviction but his caring gaze did not share the sentiment of a man who wanted to leave this place. Under his watchful eye, Nyota was more likely to be safe. He did not want to abandon her.

The door opened with a swoosh, revealing an incredibly disheveled but exhilarated Dr McCoy, whose choice of attire was so out-of-place that Nyota stifled a much-needed laugh.

"Uhura!" he exclaimed and pulled her in for a bear hug. "We've been tracing the wrong life signs for you for an hour."

"I am fine, Leonard," she replied pulling away. "Where's Spock?"

"Nyota?" she heard her husband's voice from inside the room and let go of everything just to be nearer to it, that voice, that heavenly, so missed tenor. She raced to where he was standing, dressed impeccably as always in his uniform but much paler than usual with bruises on his hands.

Her face collided with his chest and she pulled him much tighter than was necessary. But he was strong, she reminded herself, he could take it. In the space around them she could hear T'Lew's joy as she was reunited with her brother, but she could not tear herself away from Spock, not for another second. This was her home, with him.

"K'diwa," he whispered, kissing her forehead softly. "I apologise that it was not I who came to your aid. I was otherwise engaged and the Lieutenant was therefore most worthy of the role."

"I don't care," she pressed her lips to the side of his rapidly moving mouth, "I'm fine. T'Lew's fine. You're fine."

"And so is Gray," Spock finished for her.

"Yes," she turned to where Gray and T'Lew were still embracing each other. They were more beautiful as a pair of siblings; bearing the most attractive traits from both parents. She noticed the wounds and scars that Gray was covered in but did not question them. Neither did she let go of Spock's waist. Likewise, he showed no sign of wanting to put any more than the requisite distance between them.

"Where's Sulu?" she turned to McCoy who was disappearing into a cubicle.

"Back on duty which is where you should be Spock! Uhura I need you in here, can't read a damn word of this Vulcan gibberish."

"And Doctor McCoy is correct - I am needed on the bridge," Spock admitted. "The ship is currently set on a dangerous course for Earth. But first, there is something I need to show you."

"Will you be safe without me?" Nyota asked T'Lew softly in Vulcan.

"I will."

"Look after your sister," Spock told Gray; there was an edge to his voice Nyota had only ever heard him use with her. It was loving and understanding. Could the Vulcan bond which a parent shared with their child be genetic, she wondered as she and Spock walked into the cubicle where Dr McCoy was bent over a bed, muttering swears, almost overwrought.

"What is it?" she took a step forward and the sight which met her was so disturbing that her breathing became shallow.

He was a nightmare come to life. He had been forgotten, he held his hands up in front of himself like paws and each movement was staggered and imprecise. The squint of his eyes showed that he could barely see in front of him, he was very short, about one-and-a-third metres tall and she could see by the tricorder by his side that he weighed just twenty-seven kilograms. A long, viscous trail of drool wept from his lips in a constant stream.

"May I introduce you to Sonek," Spock's tone was as stoic as ever.

"How old is he?" she asked faintly, holding his arm for support. Her stomach felt hollow.

"I approximate twelve Earth years," Spock replied, placing one hand on her shoulder. "He was discovered thirty-seven minutes ago, locked in a high-security cell where he had been bound in a fabricated sack which restricted his movement."

Nyota took another step forward, edging herself closer to the misshapen child sitting on the bed. He squeaked in his restlessness, high-pitched and incoherent. In one curled hand, he carried a clean swab; he rubbed it across his fingertips, alert but confused eyes roving over the material. She watched as he rubbed it across his small lips, closing his eyes while feeling the softness material with the skin of his sallow cheek. It was the behaviour of a toddler, not a pre-teen.

"What does this say?" McCoy thrust a vial into her face.

"Aggressive stimulant," she answered blankly, attentions still focused on the piteous child before her. It was an evil thing that had been done here, a forbidden and cruel, premeditated torture. "What did they do to him?"

"Sirek did very little," Spock replied, "that, I believe, is the ailment which affects Sonek to the greatest extent. He has been deprived of sentient interactions and sensory stimulation for an extended period of time which I currently estimate to be a decade. He has no toilet training, cannot chew solid food and finds swallowing traumatic; he has also suffered from an impoverished diet which has further retarded his growth."

McCoy practically threw the vial back into the shelf where it was kept. "This ain't no picnic, Uhura. This is the worst case of child neglect I have ever seen, and genetically, he's yours and Spock's. His mom's dead and his dad put him here in the first place!"

"But will he get better?" she asked McCoy gingerly, reaching out her hand. Sonek gripped two of her fingers tightly. She wiped the drool from his mouth with the back of one hand. He marvelled at her touch, he was enthralled by it. His eyes widened at the pleasure which he gained from the contact. She fought the urge to smile back - his gaze was pure and unashamed.

"There's no getting better," McCoy said honestly, "the window of opportunity's long-closed."

"I don't believe that," she countered. "There's got to be a way we can help him."

Now Spock interjected, "Dr McCoy is correct. Sonek's physical faculties are severely reduced; he does not have the capacity to obtain neural complexity."

"In other words," she said softly and bitterly, "he'll never be normal. How could anyone do this? Sirek didn't known, surely-" Nyota found it difficult to accept that one person could irreparably damage an innocent child, their own child at that.

"I believe that Sirek's treatment of Sonek was wholly intentional," Spock continued. "There are tests in the database that show which lobes of his brain are most active. Although his cerebral matter is complete his reactions are those of a child who has been severely lobotomized. Regardless of this, he is happier today than he has ever been."

"How do you know?" tears filled Nyota's eyes, she couldn't bear to look at Sonek anymore. He bore Spock's Vulcan eyebrows and her own dark brown eyes, his skin should have been a rich hazel, a combination of pale white and rich chocolate but it was yellowing, sickly.

"He told me. Despite all of his disabilities, it seems that his incarceration has given Sonek one gift he would not have gained otherwise due to his seventy-five percent human genetic structure. He has an unparalleled telepathic capability, unlike any I have ever encountered."

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**In the words of my Beta, I have attempted to burst open the door of possibility, write a review and tell me what you think.**


	19. Appeasement vs The Offensive

**_Disclaimer: _**_I do not own anything pertaining to Star Trek - that joy goes to the dearly departed Gene Roddenberry and Paramount Pictures._

**_Beta Bit:_**_ Miranda River, like the best of superheroes, once again saves all readers from cliché after cliché, reads my very very long letters and betas in record time. _

**_Author's Note:_**_ Only a few chapters left guys, the ending is going to blow your mind._

**_Honor Roll:_**_ elaine451, bacca, ChrissyCC23, Gwen Kathleen, Miggs, FirstDraft, sadhappygirl, Sutzina Zion, squishmich, xlilypadsx. You guys remain the most talented reviewers a writer could ever ask for._

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Deuteronomy

By Elizawriter

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Chapter 19 – Appeasement vs. The Offensive

The bridge of the _Deuteronomy_ was eerily silent. Spock watched Captain Kirk nestled in his seat of authority with a pensive expression, his friend and colleague was regarding the entire situation with carefully guarded suspicion. He was clearly unsure of the next course of action.

"Commander," Nyota's gentle, strong voice broke into the rapid oscillation of Spock's thoughts. He wanted to reach out and touch the smooth skin of her hands. There was a shared sadness between them, one that had been fed by the horrific mirror image they had seen of their own lives. In the same way that mirrors alter the orientation of their reflections, both Spock and Nyota had seen a history where Vulcans bore no logic and humankind did not lead the Federation.

She had not wanted to leave T'Lew and Gray aboard the ship but they were, for all intents and purposes, still part of a rebel crew and Kirk refused on the grounds of the obviously growing attachment his crew was forming. So Nia and Sirek's son and daughter, along with two-hundred-and-seventeen others from the alternate time-frame, in metastasis, suspended in sleep until a reasonable solution could be found to keep all of them both safe and sane.

"Yes, Lieutenant," he replied, pausing before doing so.

"He's crying again."

"I am aware of this. My procrastination was with purpose. I hoped he would return to a restful state."

"It seems unlikely," she gave him an urging nod.

Spock turned to Kirk, engrossed in several blinking datapads. Sulu and Chekov, both a little worse-for-wear, were plotting the fastest, safest course to Earth with the alternate _Enterprise_ in tow, while before them all, what had once been Vulcan loomed, a black void in the distance, ever threatening to send all their lives back into chaos.

Scotty had been gone for hours, surveying the ship's engines. They seemed to have suffered extensive modification. It seemed that in the short time the _Deuteronomy_ had been in Sirek's possession, he had ordered many alterations which were now proving extremely dangerous. However, without being able to trust the huge crew they could not pilot the other ship. Scotty had absolutely no idea how to repair a system which was no powered solely on Red Matter, or even what the effects of using such a system would be.

Furthermore, if Scotty did not have enough faith to move the _Deuteronomy_, then neither did Kirk. Instead, the crew pawed over everything they knew about the Raynes, and everything they had managed to garner on the other Enterprise and began to piece together a very complex but frightening picture.

"I will see to Sonek, Captain," Spock explained although there was no real need. He was gaining more and more of the unnecessary attributes of human conversation.

Kirk nodded absentmindedly, "And send Bones in here, would ya?" he barked, still shuffling between datapads. Spock knew as well as he that these attempts at research were most likely futile.

"As you wish, Captain."

"If he doesn't settle," Nyota began.

"If your assistance is required I will not hesitate from notifying you," his dark eyes softened in response to Nyota's troubled expression.

She had developed an almost fiercely protective bond with Sonek in a very short amount of time. Spock was unsure whether this was due her feelings regarding the young boy's traumatic past or something altogether more sinister. Mental manipulation was possible. Sonek had not experienced a full spectrum of sentient expression and interaction. It was very likely that he regarded Sirek's behaviour and perspective as normal.

All-the-same, Spock and McCoy had argued vehemently that Sonek stay with them. He had been kept in silence for too long. The more interaction he could gain, the greater his chance for a more positive future.

Sonek's love for Doctor McCoy, and it was indeed an arduous infatuation, had also grown steadily since the child had been recovered from his prison. Spock assumed that this was due to Sonek's interpretation of the doctor's medical ministrations as affection. That said, up until this moment McCoy had been integral to keeping Sonek calm.

The boat of serenity had now sailed and whenever he required communication and the boy was greedy in his need for this, he would howl and cry in high-pitched squeaks until the required person came to his aid. Whenever he wanted a kiss or a cuddle, he would project images of Nyota doing so into Spock's mind, forcing him to feel the almost overwhelming pleasure the sensation gave Sonek.

There were times when he would transpose the rough texture of Doctor McCoy's voice, requiring that sound. As a Vulcan, Spock found the nakedness of Sonek's emotions difficult to contend with. They were not cloaked with any decorum or filtered by any particular human decency. This, more than anything else, unsettled Spock, the way Sonek desired in the most unashamed sense of the word. There was something distinctly animalistic and primal about all of Sonek's communication.

Spock walked into the small room where Sonek was being kept, and was instantly greeted by a scene of distress. Doctor McCoy held up his tricorder to Sonek as if it were a weapon. The wailing continued, dissonant shrieks and squeals, coupled with rapid shaking of paw-like hands and an overflow of drool.

"His vitals are fine, damnit!" McCoy glared at Spock before he had even said one word.

Sonek reached to the wall by which Spock stood and almost instantly Spock felt his own throat grow parched, dry and cracked and lacking in moisture. He understood quickly that these feelings were Sonek's and not his own. However, the sensation was still uncomfortable.

The methods by which Sonek could transmit his feelings were astonishing. The scientist in Spock repeatedly wished to test this phenomenon, its capabilities, and its genesis. What exactly had triggered such an intense response in this young child? If Spock could isolate the cause then, well it would be a scientific breakthrough.

Then he realised that he had, for an instance, held a shared goal with Sirek. This utterly repulsed him.

Sonek should certainly not be forced to a life as a scientific subject but deserved to exist solely as a child with thoughts and needs, a loved and wanted member of a family. However, the scientist within refused to completely disregard the wellspring of telepathic intrigue which was stored in Sonek's small mind.

Spock felt another surge of self-loathing at this prospect. He would have to meditate as soon as occasion arose for it. This was something that he had required for days, in order to organise his thoughts. It was a mandatory way of Vulcan life, to keep his emotions under his control and within boundaries that he could define.

"Sonek simply requires hydration," Spock explained to Dr McCoy. "He becomes easily frustrated by his inability to communicate with you."

"You don't say!" McCoy watched with irritation as Spock ushered a baby's bottle of water into Sonek's waiting mouth. Drinking, like most processes for the boy, was an unskilled and messy venture.

"The Captain requires your presence on the bridge," Spock replied smoothly while Sonek continued to splutter and choke, unable to balance his thirst with the necessity of breathing.

"But last time..." McCoy's sturdy voice trailed off. The last occasion he had attempted to leave Sonek alone resulted in a tantrum of epic proportions. The child could only be pacified by a warm embrace from Nyota.

"In that case," Spock replied, "Sonek believed you would leave him in solitary confinement. Rest assured that my presence will prevent the incident recurring in this instance."

McCoy stood slowly with a gruff nod and took a slow step towards the door. Spock had spent enough time around humans to know hesitation when he witnessed it.

"I appreciate your concern, Doctor," Spock did not turn to address him, "and Sonek does also. You have a way with this child and he is enamoured by you."

"He ain't so bad himself," Dr McCoy's voice echoed gruff embarrassment and a hint of affection. Then he left Spock and Sonek alone.

And then it was just them. Sonek lifted a curved hand and batted away the bottle. He was satiated. Then with a constantly shaking motion he reached forward and touched Spock's naked hand. Instantly Spock saw tableaus of his own image, carrying out a frenzied beating, arms and legs flailing in furious abandon, shouting.

"Vravshaya!"

Spock shirked away from the relentless replay of Sirek's abuse. Sonek did not know what the word meant; it was 'failure' in the Vulcan language.

"It is not I," he said in Vulcan although he knew well that Sonek was incapable of understanding complex speech of any kind.

Then Sonek smiled, a globule of shiny saliva dripped from his mouth and Spock instantly reached for a nearby napkin to gently catch the offending dribble. Sonek had formed a habit of tearing off the bibs they had attempted to put on him and his inability to use a toilet meant that getting him into and out of a nappy was also quite troublesome.

He reached forward to Spock again, the almost sleepy smile in his glassy squinting eyes and communicated in the only way he could. All of him was uncomfortable and sweaty from the exertions of crying. He wished to feel comfortable – he wished that Spock would bathe him and change his soiled underclothes and make him feel refreshed.

He had very much liked the way the lights refracted off the water, how it was warm and it got everywhere – he very much enjoyed being bathed and as terrified as he had been of Sirek, he exuded an expression, an aura-almost of love for Spock. That was why Sonek had replayed the severe beatings he had suffered, because on some level he was attempting to make a comparison.

"I will bathe you," Spock said gently and wiped a little more of the saliva from Sonek's mouth and carefully began to undress the boy.

He decided in that instance that Sonek should no longer be separated from the rest of the crew. The Captain had allowed him to be on this ship and therefore, Sonek would be given the privilege of every other member of the crew, to be on the bridge, at the forefront of the action. This would prove more efficient, seeing as all of the crewmembers could assist in Sonek's care and no member would be relegated to this side-room.

Spock's conclusion was reached through a series of logical ideas and assumptions; however, at the centre of his decision was an undeniable need to keep Sonek close by.

Meanwhile, on the bridge, Nyota hands floated over her console in a series of fluid, rapid movements as she tapped in the correct co-ordinates. She was soaked in trepidation, a slight tremble in her limbs as she finally heard the most welcome words through her communicator.

"Captain!" Nyota addressed, nervous excitement flooded her belly; the transmission was the most hopeful piece of correspondence that the crew had received.

"Lieutenant," Kirk pre-empted her response, "the Federation?"

"Yes – an unnamed division. Apparently they apologise for our previous isolation and are taking all of our new information into account."

"What is that supposed to mean?!" Kirk blurted, "Sulu, where in damn is Scotty? Bones, why hasn't Spock come back in all this time? Someone go and get my crew!"

The bridge sprang to life as the orders were carried out.

"Patch you through to High Command, Captain?" Nyota inquired. She was used to Kirk's frequent and unnecessary outbursts of frustrated emotion. "They are now accepting our frequency."

"Better time than any," Kirk self-consciously smoothed down the collar of his regulation uniform and looked pointedly at the screen.

"Captain Kirk?" said a pale-haired, middle-aged American with a lisp and pink cheeks. His suit was immaculate but the fuzzy uncombed tuft on his head radiated stress.

"That's who you're speaking to. Now who are you and why have we been left dawdling for the past forty-seven hours?"

"I regret that you have been uniformed. However, I believe that is about to come to an end. My name is Cartery Slakeson and I am an expert in chronological intemperance. High Command placed me in charge of this delicate mission. You see – what you carry is basically a detonator to an intergalactic, inter-reality war."

"I know what's in my back-pocket," Kirk's voice carried a hard edge, "but while you at High Command were burying your heads, Rayne and the Iris Corporation were setting up base in San Francisico. The stolen mountains have been converted to enough Red Matter to blow our universe to hell. Those mountains ain't coming back. They were an experiment – those millions are fuel for this war to burn. So, excuse-me Mr. Inter-chrono-book guy, I have a ticking time bomb about to go off up my ass and I'm trapped on a ship that runs on time dust. So you tell me – what in fuck am I supposed to do?"

The bridge had slowly filled as Kirk spoke, reminding them all of how dire their situation still was.

Sonek had taken a seat by Nyota's feet and was now rocking back and forth, thumbing a criss-crossed piece of leather material that Chekov had given him. His eyes were glazed as he bounced; paws braced in front of him like a begging puppy.

"In that case, Captain Kirk," Slakeson announced momentously, "we will come for you."

All was silent on the bridge at this unexpected news. The Federation were coming. Finally, someone was going to sort out this dreadful mess.

"How long?" Kirk did not move an inch.

"Seventy-two hours," Slakeson's throat closed in an extraordinary coughing fit and he reached forward and switched off the transmission.

The corpse of the futuristic _Enterprise_ was ghostly; those that breathed within its chambers did so only under the duress of their lungs, in a deep state of sleep which barely allowed dreaming or imagining. They were waiting for life to return to what it had once been: sensible, chronological, or, if possible, to end for them finally. Sirek's plan had failed. He had not secured the _Deuteronomy_ or stayed in charge of his operation. Surely there was no other course of action but to rescind.

However, in the deep belly of the ship, while the crew on the _Deuteronomy_ were planning their rueful escape, some way to rectify all the mistakes that had been made, somewhere, a lyre began to play. One soul had not fallen into a truly metastatic state; one inhabitant of the great metal boat could not be so easily put down. Sirek was very much conscious and very much alive.

* * *

_**Not long now.... you read it, now leave your mark**_

**_Write a review._**


	20. Hell Engendered

**Disclaimer**: I do not own anything pertaining to Star Trek - that joy goes to the dearly departed Gene Roddenberry and Paramount Pictures.

**Beta Bit**: Miranda River has been like a blessing from the fanfiction world; can't say more than that really.

**Author's Note**: It has been too long, gang. But 'Deuteronomy' has never been far from my mind. There have been LOADS of false starts, a case of writer's block and some family tragedies to contend with. They knocked me down, but I hope you're all glad to see that I'm not out.

**Honor Roll**: karen50, AJP910, spockawocka5678, twilightplotbunny, sadhappygirl, uAurel, johnnymommy19, ChrissyCC23 elaine451, bacca, ChrissyCC23, Gwen Kathleen, Miggs, FirstDraft, sadhappygirl, Sutzina Zion, squishmich, xlilypadsx. You guys remain the most talented reviewers a writer could ever ask for.

* * *

Deuteronomy

By Elizawriter

* * *

Chapter 20 – Hell Engendered

The Federation was coming. Their arrival, imminent. Finally, they were on their way to solve a crime that they had been conscious of, to save a crew that they had not helped stay alive. Nyota spent a long time thinking about lexis in her line of work. She wasn't keen on the similarities between the words 'oblivious' and 'oblivion'. So often one lead to the other.

On the bridge the calvary's arrival was being taken with a pinch of salt. Those in power were not always the smartest, did not always make the wisest decisions, and seemed to always have politics at the forefront of their minds rather than anything else.

Seventy-two hours till salvation and the crew were were taking turns to sleep. Not substantial rest, mostly dreamless, mostly disturbed and often broken. Still, despite this, for the first sixty hours nothing was amiss. Nyota counted down the hours, minutes and seconds. In between patching through communications to HQ and helping with the comings and goings of looking after Sonek. In between those things she had time to think. The problem with thinking was that it had no route of course, no plan, no map. It could go anywhere and it usually did.

She thought about T'Lew, her hazel eyes, her silken hair, her soft expression and the fact that she was simply a magnificent combination of her mother and father in appearance only. She thought of Gray Sohek and how he had defied Sirek even after years and years of bullying and abuse. Of how young but intelligent and strong they both were. She thought of her own life and how fortunate she had been to have it, how unaware of that fortune.

She thought of how the Raynes, these pseudo-human puppets of Sirek which had infiltrated Earth and under the ruse of needing Spock's blood, entrapped the crew of the Enterprise and brought him what he really wanted. A way in. He had used the Raynes and the Irises Corporation to test his weapon, to fuel his weapon. When the planets of the Federation should have been banding together, they were fleeing in all directions.

Then her mind, like the trickster it was, turned to less savoury thoughts. It switched to the suffering of Nia, Nyota's doppelgänger, a version of her self from another time; and the systematic abuse which had led to her demise. Nia had been so closely bound in body and mind to her torturer, so unable to live without him, that he had become an indelible part of her psyche.

Hands passing swiftly and seamlessly over the controls, Nyota's thoughts grew darker, though no one could tell from her expressions and her mannerisms on board the bridge. She thought about her son. Her real son. The child she had lost just a few short months before. She had not wanted one before him. What did she have? About six minutes knowledge of his existence, and then countless hours of grief. Of course, a family had been somewhere in future plans, some distant promise of the successful marriage she had been trying to cultivate with Spock. Never, ever had it been a conscious, present desire.

Now, it was as though she desired nothing else. She wanted her baby in her arms. And she nearly hated herself for it. These yearnings were coming from an instinctive need to replace what a mistake of contraception and medication had caused. It refused to go away. Especially with Sonek in full view. His need for her was a painful reminder. She knew she would do anything to help him. But he wasn't the baby she had created and fed and given life from her own flesh and organs. He was not the being she had known as intimately as part of herself.

And come off it, she scolded herself, was a baby really going to help her career as a Starfleet officer? Male and female officers were still at an uneven ratio and by giving birth to a child she would set herself back months. It was not in her to count on Spock as the sole provider, it was not in her to need James Kirk to give her her old job back after she was ready for it. Or to leave her child with her mother when she was on a mission. Active duty with Starfleet was not a place to raise a child. It was fraught, always with danger.

The last days had shown her that many times over.

Even at times of peace they seemed constantly underfire. This was what she had enjoyed. It had excited and enthralled her. Now, all she could think was that a ship was not a place to raise a child, where it could grow and learn. A child needed grass and open space and mud pies, not electrical circuits and synthesized food. It deserved friends and dirty clothes and watching its parents cook in a real kitchen and do day-jobs. Didn't it?

Every so often Spock would meet her gaze, his expression would soften slightly, and in that inimitable way he had, he touched her quite intimately without physically touching her at all. She was made a little more whole, more confident with that gaze wrapped around her. It made her want those strong, muscled arms around her too, the safety and warmth of a bed, the peace and tranquillity of their little rented flat in San Francisco.

All that felt like such a remarkable eon away: their argument, the shouting match and those harsh words. She had never really understood what people meant when they said marriage wasn't easy. She assumed, in some unbelievably juvenile way that she did. The same way most people assumed learning Vulcan and learning Romulan were similar. They were separate worlds. Nothing had prepared her for actually having to fight Spock and fight for Spock in the same day. Of them both hurting each other so deeply and then being the only people to soothe that hurt. Perhaps she had relied too heavily on his Vulcan nature, not truly realising that the combination between Vulcan and human in him made his emotions a three-dimensional chess game.

Somehow she loved him more for it. Because he didn't find it easy either. Because he felt everything more keenly than she did. Underneath the careful veneer of Vulcan-like calmness were all kinds of fires raging, needing to be doused with ice cold meditation, to be purged, much in the way of the 'kolinahr'. His life would be so much easier if he took that way. Instead he teetered with her. So this was his fatal flaw, his love for her, like some Aristotlean tragic hero. If so, who was the villain in their story? The Raynes? The Iris Corporation? Sirek? Or perhaps, they themselves. They could be their own tragic villains. In fact, looking at what had happened from a genetic viewpoint, they already were.

She was looking into his eyes thinking, feeling so intensely that she knew he must be able to feel it through their bond. When their eyes locked in such a unique and otherworldly way the ground seemed to disappear from under her. She was suspended in a world solely by the two of them. Electricity cowered between them when he began to fade. It was like being in a trance, a dream, and it robbed her of her senses. She almost could not make sense of what was happening, why he was now pale and disappearing like a ghost, becoming lesser...

"Captain!" Nyota raced towards to the spot where Spock stood. Where he had stood. "No, no, no, no, no!" She clutched at thin air, waved through it, and punched her fists through it in an immediate and scary confusion which caused Sonek to begin to scream loudly, howling, wailing. He could sense the tension in the air. Not again, Nyota wanted to yell. Not again! Not right from under her nose. No!

"What the...?"

"Holy Mary!"

"Wh-"

"Spock!" she waved blindly through the thin air where he had been. "Spock?"

"Chekov, what the hell just happened to my First Officer?!" Kirk stood up abruptly.

"Keptin, zis is an anomaly!" Chekov looked pale with shock, as they all did. "Ee haz bin transported off ze ship. But zer is no transportation capability on board."

Scotty dropped to his knees and began unscrewing the panelling on the floor. Sonek continued to scream blue murder. His eyes streaming and his little throat rubbed sore with the pain of the sound. Nyota stared at the space where Spock had been. All their connection, all their fire now gone. She didn't hear Sonek's loud shrieks; she didn't want to hear them.

"Shut that kid up," said Kirk. "I need to think."

The communications desk lit up. Nyota looked at it for a split-second.

Bones was trying in vain to placate Sonek who, in return, touched his temple and left Bones reeling, spinning around and clutching his head in agony.

"Arrgggh!" he groaned, floored. Then muttered a series of expletives, each more colourful than the one before.

"What is going on in here?!" Sulu, who had been taking his nap, emerged somewhat bleary-eyed on the bridge; he entered into the chaotic swarm of Spock's second sudden departure.

Nyota pushed past him towards the communications desk. Someone was making a transmission. It was from a nearby ship. It was from – the Enterprise. Not their Enterprise but the ship they had imprisoned, carefully closed off and sealed, the ship on which every member was supposed to be in a deep hyperbaric sleep, dead to the world in a comatose state. The ship they had cordoned off was somehow hailing them.

Chekov beckoned Sulu over. He nearly tripped over Scotty who was removing panelling from the floor to reveal, one set after another of transportation pads. The bridge was riddled with them.

"Shit – shit – shit!" Scotty muttered, "You cannat walk on this bridge without stepping onto a transport. We're done for."

"Everyone off the floor!" Kirk shouted. The crew began an odd dance, saving themselves from the pads. Kirk went to Sonek and with a strong arm, lifted the screaming child up. For some reason Sonek didn't try to telepathically wound him. Instead, he ceased his crying and looked up at Kirk with a troubling wonder, eyes wide and lips pouring with drool. The Captain showed an unnerving amount of tenderness as he wiped the little boy's face. Together they stood precariously on the Captain's chair. "Don't worry, little guy," he said in a strong voice, "I'm going to get Spock back. No more noise."

"Now, someone – talk to me!" Kirk ordered.

"Zis is not possible!" Chekov gasped, hands roving over his console in the same movement again and again.

"What?" Kirk barked. "What is not possible?

"We're being hailed by the Enterprise, Captain." Nyota was running on autopilot. She didn't know what else to do. Despair was crawling around in her stomach like a lead reptile. Had Sirek taken Spock? If he had, surely there was no way Spock could live through it this time? Once again she was faced with the possibility of life without her bond-mate.

"But we put them down."

"The Federation ship's hailing us, it's still twelve hours away. Captain," Nyota's calm voice pierced the melee. "The Enterprise is hailing us too."

"Main console!"

Everyone turned in vivid horror and fascination at the Deuteronomy's main screen. Sirek sat quite still, quite happy, lyre in his hands. Nyota felt pain in her chest, pain which caused her to strain for breath.

"James Kirk!" Sirek sounded pleased to see them all.

"We should've killed you when we had the chance!"

"Yes, you should have. But you did not. But here's the best part – it was that little boy, that monstrous angel in your arms who woke me from my sleep. His mind is that strong. He could kill you all with a thought. You see, he will never truly be one of you. He was engendered a monster and a monster he will remain. The boy winced in Kirk's arms, burying his face in the Captain's chest.

Kirk turned to Sonek, who in turn, looked up and smiled. What happened next was irretrievable. Kirk should not have perceived that smile the way he did, to be a cruel enjoyment of promised death. He dropped Sonek. No sooner had the boy left his arms and hit a transport pad had he disappeared, lost in the plethora of atoms.

"No!" Nyota screamed. "Kirk, what did you do?!"

"I – I..." Kirk started before turning away from her. "What have you done with Spock?"

"If you have misplaced a member of your crew, that is none of my business. But do enjoy the last few moments of your little lives..." Sirek reached forward to turn off the transmission but something stayed his hand.

It was Spock. He burst into the room, T'Lew on his left and Gray on his right, all carrying phasers.

"My treacherous children! Mr Spock! Welcome! You arrived just in time," said Sirek. "You see the Red Matter sequence has been initiated. In twelve minutes my home-world will appear just there... and when it does Earth will simply cease to exist. The only worlds that shall remain will be alternate worlds. So sit down, get comfortable. It promises to be a fantastic show."

* * *

_I have't. It is engender'd. Hell and night Must bring this monstrous birth to the world's light - W. Shakespeare._

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	21. Alternate Worlds

**Disclaimer**: I do not own anything pertaining to 'Star Trek' - that joy goes to the dearly departed Gene Roddenberry and Paramount Pictures.

**Beta Bit**: Miranda River, simply made of awesome.

**Author's Note**: Working on a new fanfic, 'Dionysus' since 'Into Darkness' was released May 9th in the UK. Anything in particular you'd like to see?

**Honour Roll**: Pepa816, Nyotarules (you're darn right my plot is convoluted. I've been writing my way out of it for years and I'm still not sure I pulled it off), Scipio'sgirl, Archetype, dandy-lions. You guys are the best.

* * *

Deuteronomy

By Elizawriter

* * *

Chapter 21 – Alternate Worlds

Spock had a moment to turn before Sirek's fist collided with his head, sending him sprawling. For someone with the same stature, build and genetic make-up he was unnervingly fast. The blow sent Spock's brain rattling around his head as he fought for consciousness.

All too quickly, Nyota was kneeling over him, attempting to wipe the emerald blood from his forehead. How had she come to be here? But it wasn't her. It was T'Lew and she was also bleeding. Sirek had disarmed her in a moment, smashing his elbow into her face. It was only a threat to end her life which had stopped her brother, Gray in his tracks.

Now all three of them were subdued and minutes continued to race away. There was also a ninety-four-point-eight chance that they were all going to die.

Spock was not afraid. He had been to the wilderness, in both a physical and metaphorical sense. Death held no sway for him, not in the way he had seen it do for other human beings. He had always been quite prepared to lay down his life. This was why he had joined Starfleet to begin with, to be considered useful, even in the face of his impending demise.

He had first become acquainted with Starfleet at a very tender age. And the starfleet motto of 'ex astris scientia' had piqued his interest and enamoured him, much in the way many young boys thought of space. That simple and undeniable fact: 'from the stars, knowledge' was both true and paradoxical at the same time.

Yet the part of him which still clung to his human genetics as a child, which hoped there might be a home for him amongst humans, that part knew that despite their prejudices, humans respected knowledge. This was why he had sought out the Starfleet Academy and had learned everything he could about it. The thirst within him, inconsolable, for knowledge, was mirrored by the Starfleet Academy's programs.

Elder Spock had told him to put aside logic and he could think of multiple times he had done so. Each one had produced consequences more dire than the previous: a life in Starfleet, this had been what he wanted; to be assigned to that crew, and that ship. He alone had initiated the sequence of steps which brought him to this moment.

Hindsight was a very human concept, he preferred to think of causality. Always cause and effect, action and reaction; like a volatile experiment sometimes it was very difficult to hypothesise the outcome: like Nero, the alternate reality, the Raynes and the Irises. All of them were utterly unpredictable.

But no logical series of presuppositions would have brought Spock to this particular eventuality: Nyota, his bond-mate, stranded on the U.S.S Deuteronomy, a spaceship perched precariously in the distance, and he, unable to escape.

He was astonished by the number of things he wanted to do that he still hadn't accomplished. Approximately one-hundred and thirty-seven: he had wanted to speak to his father once more, to reach the furthest edges of known space, to discover a new species, add to the codex of xeno-linguistics, to see the Vulcan race flourish once more, to follow the Enterprise on her first mission to deep space, to face an unknown culture and save a dying planet.

He had hoped one day to procreate, bearing a single child of his own, to know that bond which is above all ties, human, Vulcan or otherwise, the love of a parent for child and attempt not to make the mistakes of his father - to be the one his mother would have been proud of.

Above all he had wanted to see Nyota live a life that she wanted, which befit her rank as an officer and her calibre as a unique and gifted person. She was indeed, as bright after the stellar property she had been named for. He had assumed all this would happen, and that was illogical of him. It was more than illogical, it was wishful. Human.

In just twelve minutes, the world which had spawned Sirek threatened to appear, bubbling red poison that would seep through stars and millions of miles away, Earth, it had been claimed, would cease to be. The Red Matter sequence was improbable but not impossible. Another fact he could not deny.

Spock's thoughts were broken by Sirek's words. The former watched the latter carefully.

"Your human Bible is an intriguing source. A deity that makes, then unmakes, sending 'heaven and earth to witness against its creations.'" Sirek was obviously enamoured by the sound of his own speech. His mind moved quickly from one topic to another, stumbling over itself. He lacked sophistication, eloquence. Without the intimate knowledge of Vulcan emotion, Spock might have considered him evil.

"I must be a god. For I hold in one hand life, the other death. I will use one to create the other. I must choose life for my kind. For our kind, Spock. For my children and my planet. You live in a reality where Vulcan has been decimated and you still serve these humans like some kind of slave."

"My position in Starfleet is First Officer. It is not a position of servitude. I have no interest in command."

"You are above them and you know it," Sirek said with spite. Spock's response was simple - intrigue. Suddenly he wanted to know how Sirek's mind worked, which thought processes were bringing him to his claim.

"Sirek, as my mother was a human, I assume yours was also. Your children are seventy-five percent human in ancestry. Yet you still wish to destroy the planet from which they ascended. If you detest mankind why then, did you chose to bond with a human?" Spock spoke clearly, his voice maintaining a solid intonation that barely wavered. Sirek seemed as though he had been reminded of a bad dream and had to relive it again.

"Nia..." Sirek's train of thought wandered for a moment as he dropped his guard momentarily and a ray of grief shone through. "You think it's evil, what I've done to her."

"You are simply unbound by logic. A Vulcan without logic is a beast untamed."

"She would not come willingly. So I took her. I follow the way of beasts, as you follow that of androids."

Sirek stepped closer to Spock and leaned in, making them mirrors. Then, without another word, Sirek touched his fingers to Spock's face and melded with him.

The exchange of thoughts and memories was lightning fast, uncontrolled, a regurgitation. Spock saw energy without creation or destruction, converted from one form to another. Sirek became a facet of himself: Nyota, their first kiss at the Academy, clandestine and fraught. Completely unexpected, igniting him the way a single flame could ignite an entire city; Sirek the scientist, the same genetic man with alternate conditions of conditioning and reinforcement; both accepted into the Vulcan Science Academy, one choosing Starfleet; one close to his father, Satak, railing against his strict human mother, Amber Grayshire...

Event after event after event until both their worlds were fragmented. Spock's by the destruction of Vulcan and his mother, and Sirek's by the destruction of a colony and his father. Spock watched as his counterpart went through Pon Farr, trapped aboard his meandered ship with his assistant, Nia, forced to either mate or die. He watched as Sirek built a Red Matter Transmogrifier to detect and neutralise matter from a distance, chose high places on Earth and saw Red Matter latch on to thousands of people, taking their energy, their atoms. He watched Kilimanjaro, Denali, Elbrus, Aconcagua, the Carstensz Pyramid, Vinson and Everest transmitted into the hole Nero had left. The fissure in time, which was bringing together worlds that should remain alternate. He felt Sirek's joy as he saw his world peering back.

"It was one of the greatest moments in history," said Sirek softly as the meld was broken.

"For you, perhaps. From my perspective it was a mere flash in the sky."

Spock turned to Gray who looked up, with Amanda's eyes, Amber's eyes. Growing up on Vulcan, attacked, bullied, seen continually as inferior, she had been more than a mother. She had been a friend. Without her he was not sure how exactly to be anymore. It was as though he had lost the use of his arms and legs, but was still required to walk. Sirek felt similarly without his father, however he had no comrades to help him, only those he later commandeered and brainwashed.

"Sirek, what do you hope to achieve? If you are correct and this wormhole is in fact a metaphoric thread that you can pull on, do you truly believe that your world will replace Earth?"

"Right now all I want is to kill you."

"And this will bring you satisfaction?"

"There's your mate, Nyota. I want her also. All this time, I had forgotten Nia's anger, her erratic state of mind. Her parting gift, a suicide. The pain of losing one's bond-mate is excruciating. Even for one such as I."

During the meld Spock had seen something within Sirek, something they shared, which lay at the very core of both. In essence their affections were the same. His love for Nia had been all-consuming. Everything he had done and become had been in his desperation to atone for bonding with her against her will. He had spent their lonely exodus creating a way to reach into the past to a time where they had shared chaste kisses and she had been unsure whether to love him.

Both Pon Farr cycles since the event which brought them into this reality had produced offspring, first the twins, T'Lew and Gray, the last, Sonek. A child which had shown impeccable mental faculties at birth, faculties which diminished on contact with his human mother. So Sirek had hidden the boy away, his mother's greatest joy, her only source of comfort was her children. For this act Sirek bore, hidden within him, a knot of guilt so tight he could not even confront it.

"If I promise to hand Nyota to you, will you stop the Red Matter sequence?"

There was a pause, the pause of a lion about to leap.

"You would never give her to me. Your k'diwa?"

"The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few."

* * *

Uhura played her mind back to the moment Vulcan was swallowed whole by the Universe. Could the same Universe really be about to return it?

"What is the Red Matter sequence?" Kirk's face was set.

"I don't know.

"You've got to have some clue."

"I don't. I don't! I don't really know what it is. It's from the future. We haven't even discovered it in our reality yet." Scotty was wide-eyed with panic.

"Then tell me what you do know." Kirk shot back.

"Spock's our best bet on this. He's the one with the wild conjectures which always hit the mark. All I know is that a transporter uses an annular confinement beam, followed by electromagnetic focusing, with a gravitational compensator. It applies a temporal differential, after which a particle lock is engaged. This technology is more advanced. It doesn't need most of those things, Cap'n. It's like someone clicked their fingers and beamed them up. I don't understand it!"

"Well, this is just a damn picnic, isn't it?!" said Bones.

The crew were still unable to stand on the floor of the bridge. All of the panelling underneath had been cleverly disguised transportation devices.

"Sulu? You got anything?" Kirk still perched on top of his chair.

"Nope. Nothing."

"Well," Nyota offered, "if Sirek wanted to beam us on board, he would have beamed us aboard regardless of whether we were standing on the bays or not. I don't think we're what he wants. In fact, I don't think he even beamed up Spock in the first place."

"Who then, Mrs Spock?" Kirk gingerly put one foot down, as if moving slowly would reduce the chances of being atomically split apart and regenerated on the ship in the distance.

"Ze kid?" Chekov said. "He haz ze veird mind capability."

"You're telling me that a twelve year-old feral child beamed Spock off this ship?!"

"Who else?"

"He couldn't have just..."

"It was me."

"What?"

"It was me."

Chekov. Kirk. Scotty. Bones. Uhura. Five pairs of eyes fixed Sulu with an almost incendiary collective gaze.

"What do you mean it was you?!" Kirk strode across the room and gripped his helmsman by the shoulder and threw him off the console he was standing on.

The rest of the crew jumped down from their perches. Uhura couldn't quite believe what she was hearing.

"I did it. I saw a transportation console under my console and I pressed it." There was nothing resembling remorse in Sulu's eyes.

"How could you?!"

"Have you gone mad, man?!" Bones shouted. It was that precise moment Kirk chose to punch Sulu squarely in the solar plexus.

"I cannat believe it," said Scotty.

Uhura stared in disbelief. When she picked up her communicator in San Francisco and called her friend, the person she had thought was her friend, Hikaru, a man she thought she trusted, had she caused this? When she had gotten drunk on shots with him in a bar and danced with him, had that been the moment she had provoked him into such a cruel and senseless act? Why would anyone do this to a comrade?

"I didn't think. One second he was here." Sulu coughed, scrunched up on the floor, holding himself together.

"That's how a transporter works, laddie."

Kirk, who was still fuming, had begun to pace. "Uhura, hail the Federation ship. Can they go to warp? We need them. Tell them we need them now!"

"Hailing, Captain." She turned back to her desk and did as she was told, her fingers shaking with fury. She wanted to smash them into Sulu's face.

"Sulu. Find that transporter console. Show it to Scotty. Bones, I need the exact number of souls on board that boat."

"Ay, Jim."

"Chekov, that evil bastard said we had twelve minutes till the end of the world. How long do we have now?"

"Nine-and-a-half minutes."

"Give me a countdown and every phaser you can get hold of."

"Sir," said Uhura, "the Federation ship is already going as fast as they can. They started at warp."

"Okay. Sulu, show me that console."

Hikaru dragged himself over to the side of the panel, and was pointing to a dislodged set of wires and levers. "It's here. You guys stay, I'll go."

"Damn right, you're going... We are a crew. Whatever your personal issues you leave them at the door. You have endangered the lives of everyone aboard this ship Sulu. Perhaps, everyone on Earth."

"Eight minutes, Keptin."

"We're going to have to go over there. I don't see any other way. We have to find Sirek, save Spock and stop the Red Matter sequence, whatever it is."

"Goddamn Vulcans!" Bones muttered. "Always with the crazy!"

They all grabbed a phaser from the pile Chekov handed out.

Hikaru pressed the transportation console and in moments all of them disappeared.

They only had eight minutes left to save the world. All the worlds.

* * *

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